Remember the Days
by AnthroQueen
Summary: When your life flashes before your eyes, make sure you've got plenty to watch. A chronicle of Michael/Sara one-shots, episode by episode.
1. Pilot

**Hey everyone! Guess what? I'm back! I have been getting PMs at least once a week since I finished "As It Seems" asking me to write something new and it's humbling and overwhelming and I'm eternally grateful that you've enjoyed my writing this much. I do have a story in the works, but at the moment, it's still in the planning stage, so until that hits an internet browser near you, here's something that I've been wanting to do for a long time. A series-length trip through Michael and Sara's brains.**

**This story will develop episode by episode. Some of the chapters will be short and to the point; others will be a bit longer. As we progress through the seasons, it will branch off and include more background scenes (i.e. some chapters may be read as "deleted scenes" and the like), though the first season will stick pretty strictly to what happened onscreen. I don't mean to say that this story will be AU or OOC or anything; I plan on following the show's canon and, as much as I'd like for Michael to sail off into the sunset at the end, we all know he doesn't. But until we reach that point, let's sit back, relax, and enjoy! Or tell me if it sucks, honestly, because I will scrap it and continue on with the other story I have planned.**

**I hope my explanation wasn't too confusing. Feel free to review or PM with any questions and I'll try to clear them up!**

* * *

Pilot

For the most part, prison is everything Michael Scofield had imagined it would be. There are screaming fits and fisticuffs and racial slurs that suggest he's officially left the corporate world behind. The bathroom in his flat is bigger than the cell he's now residing in and he hasn't tasted food this bad since he tried to make ramen noodles in a Pyrex back at Loyola. The COs have the combined intelligence level of a flea and a hunger for power and control likened to that of Mussolini or Hitler. He's sure he's lucked out with his cellmate, though. With all the horror stories he's heard of cellmates beating each other half to death or sexually assaulting one another, Michael is sure he's hit the jackpot with Fernando Sucre.

But he doesn't plan on serving more than a few weeks of his five-year sentence, so he immediately gets down to business. He's positive he'll be able to get Sucre onboard with his escape plan; the way he speaks of his love for this Maricruz and his excitement over their impending marriage suggests to Michael that Sucre would not hesitate to join him. The other two signature figures in the plan, the transportation and the capital- Abruzzi and Westmoreland- may be a bit more difficult to acquire. And, of course, getting to Lincoln may prove to be a struggle. But as long as he has daily access to that infirmary, they should be out of here in less than a month.

He scratches down that he has type 1 diabetes when they ask of any pressing medical conditions and soon enough, he's brought to the infirmary for a consultation. As he waits for the doctor to arrive, he attempts to recall in an instant everything he'd learned about Sara Tancredi. A Northwestern grad, a humanitarian, a woman who dedicated her life to helping others and living by the teachings of Gandhi. And, of course, the big one- _the governor's daughter_. From everything he's read, she's the polar opposite of her father, a man who rejoices when even the smallest criminals are captured and tried. He can't help but anticipate greatly his first meeting with her. He'll have to turn on the charm, to create a friendship where there shouldn't be one, so these daily medical visits aren't painfully dull or awkward.

She enters the room, greets him and gets to work. She's no-nonsense already and Michael is impressed. Maybe she has more in common with her father than he'd previously thought. But when she sits before him and reaffirms that she isn't like her father when Michael brings him up ("_I believe in being a part of the solution, not the problem_."), he cannot deny this is true. It's when she looks at him, _really_ looks at him for the first time, that he feels it. Her eyes are a delicate hazel, a stunning mix of green and brown and gold, like a cat's eye marble, glassy and smooth. He feels something burn low in his stomach and he's not sure what it is. But he douses it with the charm act when he next says,

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

She's still looking at him as if he's glimpsed a piece of her soul. He asks, "What?"

"Nothing," She smirks. "That was just my senior quote."

"That was you?" Michael jokes. "This whole time I was thinking it was Gandhi."

She chuckles, then, because it's probably the lamest joke she's heard in a while. But still, she tells him, "You're very funny."

As she stands and leaves the room, Michael watches her go, a part of him already lamenting the fact that he'd used such an act on her. Her smile had brightened the entire room, had lifted his spirits and filled him with a kind of joy he hadn't felt in a while and was sure he wouldn't feel for quite some time.

After all, he hadn't expected to find so much happiness and light and joy behind the walls of a prison.

* * *

"_Maybe we met before. Drunk, out at a bar somewhere._"

"_I would've remembered_."

Given her past, Sara's not sure that's true, but she likes to think that if a partying, stumbling college version of herself had run into someone as intelligent or dare-she-say attractive as Michael Scofield, she would certainly remember the encounter. She isn't going to say Michael's appearance isn't appealing to her, but it's wrong and she knows what he's trying to do and she isn't going to fall for it. She's not an idiot; she and Katie are the only females in an entire prison full of male COs, nurses and inmates, she's used to the vulgarity and sexual innuendos spewing from every foul-mouth in this place. There is nothing Michael could try that she hasn't already heard or dealt with.

His glucose level is dangerously low and that is strange considering he's supposedly diabetic. He remains calm, composed and collected as she asks after any side effects he may experiencing and she has to say, she hasn't noticed any yet. But administering insulin to someone who can functionally produce their own is lethal and she has nothing against Michael; she certainly doesn't want to kill him. He consents to the tests she wishes to run, but Sara notices something flicker in his eye. Irritation? Fear? Panic? She isn't sure; it's gone too quickly. But as he leaves, she's sure she spots his hands shaking.

She goes about her day as usual but she can't seem to get Michael out of her head. There's certainly something strange about his medical condition and even stranger about his reaction. Sara only wishes that was all she was thinking about. The fact that he had known her senior quote seemingly out of the blue had been weird; the fact that he has a master's degree in engineering and graduated from a school close to her own had been even weirder. She's not sure why she finds him so interesting; surely he's not the first well-off guy to snap and switch to the dark side. But there is something about him, _something_ she can't quite place her finger on, that sets him apart from the rest.

He's here for five years. She has time to figure it out.


	2. Allen

**I should be able to update fairly regularly, so here's chapter two! Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

* * *

Allen

He's hunched over, wringing his hands and sweating. Michael appears as if the news he's about to hear is a matter of life or death, and Sara is eyeing him strangely, knowing it's not that serious. If anything this test could bring him good news- a life free of a disease that is potentially life threatening if not well treated. Even still, Michael drums his fingers on his knees and avoids eye contact, the polar opposite of his attitude the day before. He'd been suave, charming, funny… and now look at him. Sara glances at the meter, still reading his blood sample, and then back at Michael.

"You seem nervous."

He glances up at her and tries to cover his apprehension with that same cool exterior. He fails. "I do?"

"You're sweating," Sara notices warily and he smirks a bit.

"Must be the needles. Never really got used to them."

It's a bullshit answer; they both know it. Sara eyes him strangely and says, "Somehow between the diabetes and that tattoo, I find that hard to believe."

She had been right, then, yesterday when she thought there was something very peculiar about this man. When she reads him his test results, Michael seems to visibly relax; his hands still, the color returns to his cheeks, that same winning smile is back on his face. He is almost giddy at the prospect of returning again tomorrow for another insulin shot, something Sara is nearly alarmed at because, honestly, who _likes_ getting daily injections? He leaves joyfully and Sara watches him go, perplexed, as Katie enters the room, a mischievous look on her face that tells Sara she's going to make an unwelcomed comment.

She's correct. Katie remarks, "Cute!"

"Prisoner," Sara shoots back. "I don't know. There's something strange about him."

"What do you mean?"

"When I gave him his test results, there was this look on his face," Sara trails off. "Relief."

"Maybe he's just excited he gets to come back here and see you," Katie winks.

Sara smirks, sarcastically adding, "Oh, that _must_ be it."

"I'm telling you," Katie nods. "Stranger things have happened, Sara. Is it that implausible that a guy could like you?"

"No," Sara disagrees. "But he's a prisoner and I'm-"

"The prison doctor," Katie fills in. "And it's the source of many prisoners' fantasies, I'm sure."

"I'm not interested in realizing prisoners' fantasies," Sara shakes her head in disgust. "I just…"

She gets lost in thought over what it could possibly be about Michael that piques her interest. Katie notices. "You just what?"

"Nothing," Sara answers too quickly. "Nothing. Just forget it."

* * *

"_You may have the blueprints of this place, but there's one thing those plans can't show you- people._"

Michael's sure that Lincoln has never spoken truer words in his life. He's not sure why he assumed C-Note would be willing to just trust his judgment and give him the PUGNAc, especially in the midst of a race riot. He's not sure how he would evade the throes of T-Bag, his newest threat. He's not sure why Abruzzi can't just take his word for it, why he won't trust him to give the whereabouts of Fibonacci when they've successfully left Fox River behind, but he does know that he had not anticipated as much trouble as he's currently having.

Lincoln had stated that you can count on the plan, but you can't count on people screwing up that plan and here he is, watching things slip out of his control. C-Note is promising to find out exactly what Michael is formulating and he isn't that subtle, so with enough snooping, Michael's sure C-Note will find out. He makes a mental note to escape before this happens. He's sure Sara could see right through his lame, I-don't-like-needles excuse and if he didn't learn to cover his ass better next time, she'd _surely_ blow his escape plan wide open. He's still thinking of Sara when Brad Bellick grabs his arm away from the other, nameless CO and ushers him to an abandoned supply shed.

He can't talk his way out of this one and he knows the ending before it happens. Michael lets out a horrified, pain-stricken scream and blood pours from his missing appendages as Abruzzi frantically wraps his foot in his abandoned sock. Bellick shouts a few obscenities as he rushes into the room, but upon realizing who caused the injury, he stops short. Instead, he throws a few gleeful looks at the mob boss and his cronies and grabs Michael roughly in order to drag him to the infirmary. Michael does everything he can, on the way, to think of anything but the blinding pain.

He thinks of yesterday, of meeting Sara for the first time and of her brilliant, radiant smile that had filled him with an exultant light, and knows he's already in trouble if he's thinking of her as a source of comfort.


	3. Cell Test

**I'm sure you guys aren't going to want to read my rants and rambling for 81 chapters (I think that's how many episodes there are lol) so instead, I'll only include an author's note, from now on, when I need to clarify something. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!****  
**

* * *

Cell Test

It's fascinating how quickly things can change, isn't it? One minute, the sun is shining and the sky is cloudless, the next, angry storm clouds are emptying buckets of rain and terrifying thunder and lightning onto the Earth. One minute, her patient is gleefully accepting his bad-news blood test results and walking out with a bounce in his step, the next, he's being rushed into the infirmary, grimacing and shaking in pain, blood seeping from a soaked sock on his left foot. Sara has to tell the COs twice to leave her and Michael alone, as if they're doubting her ability to competently treat him or maybe they think he'll attack her if they don't handcuff him to the table. She's only partially insulted; she's used to the sexism in her work environment by now.

There's more blood than skin exposed when she gets a good look at his foot and a weird feeling comes over her, as if she's feeling guilty that this had to happen to him in the first place. As if this was somehow her fault, which it in no way was, or as if _she's_ in pain because he is. This thought jars her; she barely knows him, it's been two days. Even still, watching him shift uncomfortably on the table and grab her wrist as she goes to remove the sock makes her heart clench. She tells him he's okay even though she's not sure it's true; she has no idea what she's about to uncover and when she does, when she sees empty space and jagged skin and exposed bone where she should see two toes, she realizes the situation is much more severe than she had previously thought.

"What happened?" Sara demands as Michael slinks back against the table, his cheeks damp and tear-stained, his eyes closed in pain.

"Nothing," He breathes quietly and she frowns.

"This isn't nothing, Michael," Sara says urgently. "I need you to tell me what happened."

"Don't make me lie to you," He exhales and this startles her. He's in pain, sure, but he hasn't had any medication yet, so nothing could have altered his thinking process. "Please."

She stares at him a moment, her hands still holding a clean patch of gauze and medical tape to his open wound. He hasn't reopened his eyes, but Sara's sure that if he did, they would be as clear and honest as ever. Perhaps Katie had been right; perhaps he isn't putting on an act. Maybe he's being completely sincere because that's the kind of person he is. She can understand that this kind of attitude would make _any_ of the other inmates irritated enough to snip off his toes. She glances at him a bit longer and replays what he'd said over and over again. They barely know each other; the only things they do know about one another had been exchanged in small talk yesterday afternoon. And still, Michael had begged to keep things honest between them as if they were, dare she say it, in a committed relationship or something. It's just as perplexing as he is, to be honest.

But you can't fake emotion like that. Sara's sure of it.

* * *

Sara's talking about swelling and antibiotics and filing a prisoner misconduct report, but Michael's not paying any attention. Instead, the only thing he can think of is how it's only two days in and he's lost not only two toes, but also his laidback cellmate. Sucre had bolted at the first mention of a breakout plan, which is exactly the opposite of what Michael had expected. If he is assigned a new cellmate and somehow ropes him into the plan, Michael will still have to worry about Sucre spilling the details and spoiling the escape. Honestly, this report Sara's brought up is the least of his worries, but he doesn't need it on top of everything else he's been dealing with.

He disagrees with her; instead smirking, "I've made some enemies."

Sara doesn't find the humor in the situation and Michael finds it almost endearing that she wants this badly to keep him safe. "Yeah. You scared?"

He shoots her a look, then, one saying he could handle himself and that he didn't need her looking out for him, but she seems to understand the ridiculousness of her own statement, saying, "Men. Okay."

Michael smiles slowly and goes to speak, but she continues instead and she does not find it as amusing. "Here's what I think. I think you are scared. And you wouldn't be human if you weren't scared in a place like this."

He shouldn't do this and he knows it, but he wants so badly to share a piece of himself with her. Something inside him pushes him forward and he comes up with, "When I was young, I couldn't sleep at night because I thought there was a monster in my closet."

The stern look on Sara's face melts into a hint of a smile, so he continues. "My brother told me there wasn't anything in the closet but fear and fear wasn't real. He said it wasn't made of anything, it was just air. Not even that."

As he continues to tell the story, he watches as its effects play out on Sara's emotions. She smiles and his insides feel warm again, like he's wrapped his soul in a homemade quilt and sat beside a fire sipping hot cocoa. He has to look away when she offers to move him to ad seg; he doesn't want to seem too vulnerable. Instead, he disagrees and hops off the table, telling her he'll fight his own battles, both externally and internally. She looks almost disappointed at his choice and Michael has to wonder why. He's left wondering when he leaves and long into the evening, even after he's met his sleepless new cellmate.

It's fascinating how quickly things can change, isn't it? One minute, he's an award-winning, high-earning engineer working for one of the most prestigious firms in the country. The next, he's a prisoner in a notorious state penitentiary trying escape with his brother to save his life. One minute, the prison doctor is just a bunch of newspaper clippings and positive headlines. The next, she's a living, breathing human being whose smile could brighten any room and whose hazel green eyes are unlike anything he's ever seen before.

One minute, there's nothing. The next, there's something.


	4. Cute Poison

Cute Poison

Things are looking up a few days later. He's created the erosive chemical to burn through the pipes leading to the infirmary, he's more or less solved the Haywire problem, and Sucre is back on the top bunk above his head. They begin to chip away at the blocks behind their toilet long into the night and Michael is pleased that things are finally going as he's planned. He's wasted enough time as it is; news from Lincoln that he's had to choose who he wants at his execution is all the motivation Michael needs. They'll be out of here by the end of the next week, as planned.

He's in a great mood when he goes to see Sara that afternoon, but he can tell the good mood is only one-sided. She asks after his toes, his diabetes and his temperament, all of which he answers with the signature "no pain, fine, I'm good!" before she motions towards the wound on his forehead he's haphazardly covered with a Band-Aid. It takes Michael a few moments to think, but he eventually says, "I caught an elbow playing basketball."

Sara frowns. "Uh-huh. Mind if I take a look?"

"By all means," He smiles. Sara doesn't.

She peels off the bandage and examines the bloodied gash above his brow, her face still set and stony. Michael isn't sure what to do or say next and he wracks his brain trying to think of things to say that will make her smile again. It's almost as if she's irritated that he could possibly find his injuries funny. He can't say he blames her; it isn't like he's enjoying getting banged up and bruised every other day. Just as he's about to say something equally as stupid as the Gandhi comment from a few days earlier, Sara breaks their silence.

"You know you're going to get killed in here, right?" She asks rhetorically. "If you're not careful."

His face twists into a grin she doesn't return. "I'll make you a bet. When I get out of here- _alive_- I'll take you to dinner."

"Lunch," Michael suggests when Sara continues to clean his wound without a remark. "Cup of coffee."

"Michael," She cuts him off in irritation. He's gone too far. "This, um, this charm act could be exactly what's getting you into trouble out in the yard."

She tells him, then, to lean forward so she can apply the new bandage and Michael says nothing more. It shouldn't make him feel this way, but he does feel put off by her reaction. It's only happened, what, twice? But he still wants nothing more than to make her smile. And if he can't do it with lame jokes and outlandish, far-off promises, how can it happen? She adjusts her new bandage and administers insulin and tells them they're done for today. And as she begins to walk away, he's frantic for another chance, another shot to atone for what he'd said earlier. Maybe asking her out five years in advance had been a bit of a stretch, but maybe that's why he thought it would've made her smile.

It isn't until he's back in his cell that he realizes he _does_ have another shot- every day until he breaks out of here. So why is he so frantic?


	5. English, Fitz or Percy

English, Fitz or Percy

Sara's trying very hard to ignore Michael's advances; she's keeping her answers to his questions short and sweet and isn't thinking about how he asked her out five years in advance too often. But she'd be lying if she said it wasn't difficult; he's different from the rest of the inmates she sees everyday. He's someone she can have a profound conversation with, which happens very rarely in her personal life, if she's being honest. She can't even remember the last time she'd been on a date- even though she doesn't want to associate "date" with "Michael Scofield" because, let's face it, it's never going to happen. But she has very few people she's close with and talking with Michael is actually a daily source of excitement and that's _not_ a violation of her job description so don't sue her.

She's walking through the prison, now, with Katie, who's rambling on about something hilarious her husband said the evening prior and Sara's only half-listening. She's been told this morning she now has to give weekly physicals to Lincoln Burrows, Fox River's one and only death row inmate, up until the date of his execution. She's spoken with Lincoln only twice; once when he first arrived and needed his first medical consultation and the second time had been a year earlier when some bad meat had given the entire prison E. coli. It isn't comforting in the slightest; the entire time of his physical, all she'll be able to think of is how he'll be dead and buried by the end of the month.

Sara has just told Katie this news when the latter responds, "You heard the news, didn't you?"

"No, what?"

"They're brothers," Katie informs her friend. When Sara still looks confused and asks whom she's talking about, Katie adds, "Burrows and Scofield."

"Michael Scofield?" Sara clarifies, her surprise evident.

Katie nods. "Heard it from one of the COs over in Gen Pop. He didn't say anything to you about it?"

Sara glances away. "No."

"Well, it must be hard," Katie continues. "To be here, so close to your brother, and not be able to do anything to help him."

Sara remains quiet the rest of the walk to the infirmary because honestly, all she can think of is Michael. She at first feels sorry for him because, as Katie had mentioned, it's not the most favorable of situations to be so close to his brother and yet so far. He's stuck behind bars, forced to watch his brother's days tick by slowly and surely, one by one. And yet… a part of her has to wonder just _how_ Michael got here in the first place. How did he end up, coincidentally, at the same prison as his brother? An engineer who just felt compelled to rob a bank and throw his life away? It's not a coincidence. It can't be… Can it?

Later that evening, Sara approaches Lincoln's lonely cell with a slight apprehension. She doesn't know much about him, but she's _heard_ plenty of things. He's a murderer, he's violent, he's aggressive… Linc the Sink, right? But she can't imagine that the brother of the quiet, patient Michael Scofield could possibly be that different. He's sitting on the poor excuse for a bed, leaning against the wall, and greets her with a nod of his head after she's said hello. So far, so good.

"I'm, uh, supposed to give you a physical this evening," Sara opens. "Let me apologize in advance for the heavy dose of irony we're about to participate in."

"That's all right," He says quietly. "You're just doing your job."

She smiles slightly. "Yeah, well, letting the State know that you're healthy enough to execute is _not_ why I went to med school. I apologize."

He grins back. "That's okay."

The rest of the physical goes fairly well and Sara has to admit Lincoln is much calmer than she'd expected a man to be, in his situation. She asks for a family medical history and then delicately broaches the subject of siblings. Lincoln denies having any; he's still keeping it a secret. She then lets him know the cat's out of the bag. "Anyone besides Michael?"

Lincoln glances at her in shock and panic. Sara says, "Fox River's a small town, Lincoln. People around here don't have a whole lot to do besides time and talk."

So he spills everything and when it rains, it _pours_. He tells her they were closer when they were younger than they are now, that their father split and their mother died young. He says Michael's been abandoned his entire life and that it's nearly impossible for him to make up for what he's done to Michael's psyche. He says he knows he's the reason Michael's in prison, because he literally had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. At the end of his story, Lincoln is empty and gutted and Sara more adequately understands their situation now. A strong feeling of guilt and pain and empathy washes over her as she bids Lincoln goodnight, heads home and continues to think about the brothers long into the evening.

By the next morning, Katie comes to her with more gossip- Michael Scofield is being transferred. She's shocked and disappointed, especially considering she hadn't gotten a chance to talk to him since her one-on-one with Lincoln. She crosses the infirmary and watches as Bellick leads Michael down the dusty, beaten path of the prison. He's shuffling slowly, ambling towards the open gates and Sara doesn't know why, but she feels as though tomorrow and the next day and every day after that will be extremely dull and grey. She had truly enjoyed her visits with him each day, despite the unnecessary innuendos and flirtation he threw at her here and there. She'll admit it only to herself- she's going to miss him.

And then, well. Something happens out front and he doesn't end up leaving after all. He doesn't go anywhere and the next day, he's scheduled to be in her office at two, as per the usual. Sara does everything she can to hide her anticipation.


	6. Riots, Drills and the Devil: Part 1

Riots, Drills and the Devil: Part 1

It is hot as _hell_; too damn hot for April, that's for sure. Nearing ninety degrees, Sara's sure the inmates will likely implode- and will likely fake or honestly suffer from heat exhaustion. She has six patients in the span of twenty minutes and two of which have actual symptoms. Still, she has yet to see Michael and she'd still like to speak with him about Lincoln. So, when the medical traffic dies down and Katie says she can handle the rest, Sara makes a trek outside near the prison yard and spots him, t-shirt damp with sweat as he paces the yard in the sweltering heat.

"Hottest April on record," Sara opens lamely, yet Michael turns around anyway and shoots her a smile.

"Global warming," He suggests.

"Probably," Sara nods. "Listen, you got a minute?"

"About five years' worth," Michael answers wryly.

Sara glances down. "Right. Sorry. Look… You never told me Lincoln Burrows is your brother."

"Never came up," Michael's eyes, piercing and blue, bore into hers.

"Right," Sara states guiltily. "I'm curious if that isn't because of my father, the Governor. He may not be the one pulling the switch but you and I both know he has the power to grant clemency and he won't. And he never does."

Michael shoots her a smile, which somehow makes her feel instantly better. "My old man was an abusive drunk who abandoned his family. I don't judge anybody by their father's actions… or _inactions_, if that was your concern."

"Just so you know," Sara says, then. "I don't agree with his politics. And I'm sorry about your brother."

"I appreciate that," Michael replies, that ghost of a smile still on his face.

She nods and steps away, but figures if she doesn't offer now, she never will. Turning back, she calls, "This isn't much, but… I have to give Lincoln a weekly check-up now. If you want, I could schedule those visits to end right before you come in for your shots. That way, uh… you'd at least see each other, even if it's just in passing."

"Thank you." He grins, warm and genuine and she nods.

"Yeah."

Sara still feels as though it isn't _really_ enough, but there's nothing more she can do, really. She wishes she had the power to talk her father into granting clemency, but she knows for a fact if a request came from her, he'd ignore it faster. She returns to the infirmary, notes the fifteen new patients and sighs, knowing it's going to be a long day. It quickly escalates and gets even longer. She leaves her office to see an officer lying unconscious on the floor moments after hearing about the breaching of security in Gen Pop. In a moment's panic, Sara turns to flee out the side door and comes face to face with the largest man she's ever seen in her life. He's standing over her, grinning menacingly, before attaching his hand to her throat and squeezing_ hard_. She can't breathe, she can't move; she's paralyzed with fear. She does the first thing she can think of- she stabs the syringe in her hand into his arm and when he releases her, she locks herself in the office.

Pushing the desk in front of the door, Sara glances around for something defend herself with. The phone's been disconnected, there are bars on all the windows, no outside-leading doors and inmates surrounding her at every turn. There is literally _nowhere_ to go; nothing to do but wait until they broke through the glass, which she's sure they'd do eventually, and come in to pick her off. She's breathing short and fast and she's willing herself to stay calm and failing miserably. The giant inmate breaks off a piece of the window and Sara uses the opportunity to arm herself with a shard of glass. She's terrified, frightened, and horrified.

But if they're going to come, she isn't going down without a fight.

* * *

When Michael crawls back into his cell, all hell has broken loose. There's rioting, shouting, screams of pain and insanity. There are sheets and toilet paper hanging from the floors, the ceilings, and the bars of each individual cell. There's a beaten-up CO sitting on the floor by his bunk and T-Bag standing menacingly in the corner. There's blood and smoke and sweat and he's a little disoriented at first, but he knows this is all his fault and he honestly hadn't meant for it to escalate like this.

He heads downstairs on a whim; call it a sixth sense, but he has a premonition that something awful is about to happen. Someone yells, "Stroker's about to get the Doc!" and that's all Michael needs to hear. He pushes his way through hordes of sweaty inmates and forces himself into the control room, where he watches as several inmates attempt to break the protective glass around the infirmary where Sara is huddling in fear. The other inmates in the room chuckle and cheer with glee, which makes Michael physically ill. He has to get to her. He has to get to her _now_.

Michael climbs the stairs three at a time and pushes his way back into his cell. In a matter of seconds he tells the others to finish what they've started and that he'll be in sickbay. He makes sure to remind them no one touches the CO before launching himself into the bowels of the prison and expertly making his way to the roof. Helicopters whiz overhead and nearly miss him. Police officers and the SWAT team are huddled masses in the yard. News teams wait at the prison gates for news on the full-scale riot. But above it all, Michael can see a panicked, fear-stricken Sara banging helplessly on the reinforced windows where no one can see or hear her.

But he can.

"I'm coming, Sara," Michael promises, climbing back into the building. "Just hang on."


	7. Riots, Drills and the Devil: Part 2

Riots, Drills and the Devil: Part 2

Michael is crawling through the air vents as if someone's chasing him. He speeds around every turn, jumps over loose ceiling boards and moves as quickly and as agilely as he can. Sara is in danger and it's all he can think of; the terrified look in her eye, the state of the infirmary, the wild and raucous energy of each of the inmates stalking her. He hears commotion beneath him- he's getting closer- and peels back one of the ceiling tiles just in time to watch the inmates set a phonebook on fire and launch it into the room Sara's trapped in.

She's running out of time; Michael crawls a few more feet before tearing the tile away so he's just above her. He reaches down, extending his arm so as to tap her on the shoulder. She whirls around in terror and glances up at him as he calls, "Come on, grab my hand. Come on."

He can tell she's immensely surprised, but she does grasp his hand in a vice-like grip and he is able to pull her to safety. Sara is nearly hyperventilating with fear and when he places a calming hand on her back, she jumps and pulls away in fear. He reassures her, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

He's sure she's not in the mood to trust _anyone_ right now, but she has unconsciously put all of her faith in him right now, and he's not going to let her down. He's going to get her out of here. Michael explains the route they have to take and that all she has to do is follow him. She nods, a bit hesitantly at first, and then quickly to make up for it. So they crawl and climb and still, shouts of insanity from the riotous inmates below do not make Sara feel any better. They stop so she can catch her breath and Michael tries to make some small talk to smooth over the situation. It doesn't go over very well, so he tries a different approach.

"You ever been to Baja?" Michael asks and Sara stares at him as if he's sprouted a second head. "Mexico?"

She stares a while longer before exhaling and saying, "No."

"There's this _great_ place down there," Michael goes on. "Twenty bucks a night. Hammock on the back deck. Beers are fifty cents, twenty-five cents at happy hour."

And he's done it; that smile he loves so much graces her face. He keeps going. "You ever been to Thailand? Thailand's _great_…"

"Michael, if you're trying to calm me down, you're doing a _terrible_ job," Sara laughs and Michael laughs too.

"But I am _trying_," He points out and they laugh some more.

But the conversation turns, then, because Sara implores, "Michael, why are you here? Crawling around in the ceiling, risking your life?"

He tells her the truth. "You needed help and, uh… I came to find you."

"How'd you know where to go?"

And then, he bends the truth a little. Okay, a lot. But there's no way he's telling her he has the blueprints to the place. It's suicide. A part of him does feel bad for lying outright, but he can't be bothered with the truth when there's inmates trying kill them and they're trapped in the ceiling. They crawl to the end of the hall and open the vent, preparing to climb down back into the main building. He goes first and motions for her afterward. It's a pretty long drop, but he guides her down, easing her onto the ground and assuring her he won't let go. She's shaking, still, but her eyes meet his and he can feel the tension release from her body.

And it's in that moment, that moment right there, that he knows he's a goner.

* * *

They're on the run again before Sara can decipher what that moment they just had meant, but sooner or later, they've made it to the outside door and there are sharpshooters everywhere. Michael is ushering her out the door, but Sara is utterly reluctant. She can't leave him here; she feels as though she's abandoning him, and her conversation with Lincoln flutters to the surface in an instant. She feels as though if she's forced to leave him behind, she won't ever see him again. With a pang in her heart, she realizes she can't leave him behind no matter how much he's ushering her out the door. The sharpshooters… They'll surely kill him.

"You have to go," He pleads with her but she's immediately shaking her head.

"I can't. They'll kill you!"

"You go out the door," Michael says, stepping closer. "I'll drop to the floor."

"They're sharpshooters, Michael," Sara says frantically. "They won't miss."

"That's why you can't stay here," Michael insists and pushes her forcefully towards the door. "Go!"

The next few seconds happen in a blur, but suddenly she's outside and she hears gunshots and sees blood spatter against the windows and prays to God Michael had gotten out of the way. She's not sure what happens next; a few SWAT team members bring her to a medical station to get checked over and her father is there only to reprimand her and it all rushes by in a flurry of activity. All she really wants to do, however, is see a complete list of the dead so she can scan it and memorize it and make sure _he_ isn't on it. Nearly an hour or so later, one is brought to her. It takes her less than a minute to confirm that Michael is still alive. She lets out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and visibly relaxes.

A coworker of hers, Ron, passes by and greets her warmly. She asks, "Question- why did your department assign inmates on PI to do a toxic mold removal project?"

Ron stares at her in confusion. "What toxic mold project?"

"In the, uh, the crawlspace in A-wing," Sara says.

"PI didn't go there," Ron tells her. "And we'd _never_ assign inmates to do that."

Sara remarks, "Okay… Sorry."

"No problem."

As he walks away, Sara is left with millions of unanswered questions. But they all boiled down to one and one alone: how in the _world_ did Michael Scofield know the layout of the crawlspace if he'd never been up there?

And, of course, _why_ did he lie to her about it?

Sara's not sure which one perplexes her more.

(It's the second one. But she'd lie if you asked her.)


	8. The Old Head

The Old Head

"After what you went through in the riot, I figured you might take the day off," Michael says, genuinely surprised to see Sara when he enters the infirmary that afternoon.

"Nah, I'm fine," She tells him, but he can't say with certainty that she is. "I, uh, couldn't find anybody to cover for me, anyway."

If she's not, she's doing a great job hiding it. Michael smiles and she returns it. "I hope you don't feel like you owe me anything."

He can see his words change the expression on her face. Sara looks as though she wants to say so many things, but she settles for, "I do. I'm, uh… I really appreciated what you did for me."

There's more, he can sense it. "But?"

"But," She takes a deep breath. "You told me you had been up in the crawlspace for PI and PI was never assigned to go there."

He stares at her a long time and realizes she's getting too close. He'll have to pull away for now, keep her in the dark, bring their relationship down a notch, if only so that she doesn't figure it out. If only so that she doesn't get involved. "We're done here, right?"

"Michael, don't be like that," Sara sighs. "I just want some answers."

"Thanks for the shot, Doc," Michael says instead and ignores the frustrated and hurt expression on Sara's face as he walks away.

He can't risk it and as much as he wants to continue with their playful banter, he can't allow himself to feel too much. He wants to- _he wants to so badly_- but that's not what he's here for and there will, maybe, be a time much later for personal relationships and information sharing. Now is not that time. He can't tell Sara the truth and it's killing him to lie to her ("_Please don't make me lie to you_") but he doesn't have a choice this time. He knew it from the start; it was always going to end this way.

Michael tells himself this very truth over and over again until it's ingrained in his memory. It doesn't make anything any easier.

* * *

It's late; she hasn't eaten yet and she's sure everyone else has gone home. But she's here, sitting at her desk and poring through Michael Scofield's case file as though she was writing a book report on the man. Every little detail jumps out at her- he has a master of science, he worked for one of the most prestigious firms in the country, he lives _near her_, for God's sake. Nothing about this man makes any sense. In fact, he's so ordinary and does not fit the criminal profile, that she probably passed him on the street a dozen times without ever giving him a second glance. A moment later she hears footsteps approaching and races to cover her trails, embarrassed. She doesn't succeed.

"What's this?" Katie asks as she comes into view and then chuckles a bit. "You stalker."

"I'm not a stalker," Sara smiles. "I just… don't get it."

"What is there to get?" Katie wonders and Sara motions toward his file.

"He doesn't fit the profile, right?" She says. "I mean, the man's got a graduate degree, he lives in _my_ neighborhood… Guys like that hang out at Streeterville, they drink single malt scotch, they pay two hundred dollars for Cubs tickets. They don't rob banks."

"Maybe he couldn't afford season tickets," Katie chuckles teasingly. "Maybe that's why he robbed the bank."

"Thank you," Sara rolls her eyes, grinning. "I'm actually being serious."

"Can I ask you something?" Katie asks and when Sara affirms, she continues. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because he lied to me." Sara admits and Katie scoffs.

"They _all _lie to you!"

"Maybe because he's the one guy in here I can actually get to," Sara sighs. "The one guy I can… make a difference with."

"Go home, girl," Katie shakes her head, leaving the room. "You keep burning it at both ends like this, you're going to drive yourself crazy."

Katie's right and Sara knows it. But it's in here _somewhere_. That certain something that Sara noticed that very first day, that _something_ about Michael must be in his paperwork somewhere and by God, she is going to figure it out. She might drive herself crazy in the process, but it's also driving her crazy to not know. Asking him outright hadn't worked and there is seemingly nothing in his file. She didn't currently have another option.

She glances back down at his mug shot and smirks. "Michael Scofield… you do not belong in prison… So why are you here?"

The only answer is the hum of the air conditioner; all else is silent.


	9. Tweener

Tweener

Wednesday is paperwork day and nothing is more irritating than sitting on the phone dealing with insurance companies. Sara spends three hours arguing with United Mutual over some inmate named Brennan she's never met; she's transferred throughout their service department a record seventeen times- she's counting- before they finally break down and agree to pay the final fees. So when she finally makes a dent in the paperwork and moves on to Michael's insurance company, she is not at all thrilled to have the conversation about switching his payments from the taxpayer's to the insurance company themselves.

For the most part, the woman she's speaking to is incredibly nice. She tells Sara Michael's already met his deductible and then soon realizes it had been his psychiatric fees and not his medical ones. This news startles Sara; Michael had received _psychiatric_ care? She gets as much information about his psychiatrist as she can and decides, on her lunch break, to take a mini trip over to his office to speak about Michael's preexisting conditions, should he have any. Maybe that had been why he'd lied to her; was he a pathological liar? Did he have some sort of disorder? She's eager to find out.

Doctor Brighton is extremely reluctant to give her any information, stating Michael had been his patient long ago and there is a sort of long-standing confidentiality. However, Sara somehow convinces him this in no way violates the Hippocratic oath; that she only wants to be briefed on his conditions so she can further treat him and provide him with the best possible care in a place like Fox River. Dr. Brighton, albeit still a bit reluctant, states that Michael must need the psychiatric guidance now more than ever, considering he is stuck in a place as awful as a state pen.

"What did you treat him for?" Sara asks eagerly and Dr. Brighton draws in a deep breath before he answers.

"Well Michael suffered from a couple of things," He informs her. "One was a condition called low latent inhibition…"

When Sara expresses she's never heard of such a condition, Dr. Brighton goes on to explain Michael's inability to see the bigger picture. Instead, Michael sees all the moving parts and is unable to shut them out; a bit of a sensory overload, one might say. He continues to say that if someone with a LLI also has a low IQ, it almost always results in mental illness. However, LLI paired with a high IQ, as in Michael's case, the result is creative genius. _Michael's a genius_, she continues to repeat over and over until she can't take it anymore. She imagines this is how Michael feels with a condition like LLI.

"You said there was something else you treated him for," Sara presses on.

Dr. Brighton nods. "He came to me with absolutely no sense of self-worth. The loss of both parents very often does that to a child. But, with the low latent inhibition, something interesting happened to Michael. He became very attuned to all the suffering around him. He couldn't shut it out. He became a rescuer; one of those people who is more concerned with other people's welfare than his own."

Sara is a quiet a while, processing everything she's just heard before saying, "I didn't know all this about him."

Dr. Brighton cocks an eyebrow at her. "Then maybe you don't know Michael Scofield."

And she doesn't, not really. There's something there, something that's telling her she knows everything about him for some reason, but she knows, deep down, that isn't true. She barely knows him, but with this information she definitely understands why he is the way he is. He cares more for others than he does for himself, he notices and processes all the little things when everyone else just sees the big picture and he is a _genius_ in the most classic sense of the word. Sara heads back to Fox River flooded with information and with one desire- she needs to see and talk to him.

She finds him in the yard the next day. "I, uh… I just wanted to let you know that if you're looking for someone to talk to in here, you're not alone. It's part of my job to counsel inmates and help them with their problems."

"I've got things pretty well figured out," Michael tells her and Sara nods.

"I sort of backed into some information about you," Sara says, bending the truth a bit. "I hope you don't mind, but you have to understand that there's a reason I became a doctor. It's in my nature to want to help. From what I understand, it's in your nature too? You did a lot of good things before you were in here; a lot of community work, a lot of charity work… What happened?"

Michael turns to face her. "The man you're talking about died the moment I stepped inside these walls."

Sara sighs, defeated. "Alright."

She's sure she can make a difference with him, but it's a give and take relationship, and Michael is not currently cooperating. The rest of the day passes in a blur but she can't shake the feeling that there's something she's missing. The visit with the psychiatrist certainly filled in some major gaps and fleshed out Michael's character, but she's sure there's more to the story and she's determined to figure it out. Katie passes her in the hallway and asks, "Hey, where did you escape to yesterday? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

"I, uh, just had to get out for a while, that's all," Sara lies and Katie smirks.

"Out being a stalker, are we?" Katie teases. "Where'd you go? His apartment?"

Sara rolls her eyes. "I'm not a stalker! I just want to help him."

"I know, honey," Katie tells her. "But he has to _want_ to be helped."

Sara bites her lip. "Yeah. There's that."


	10. Sleight of Hand

Sleight of Hand

Sara can tell he's distracted, and no offense to her in the slightest, but today is the first day he'd rather be in the yard than up here with her. He needs to get PI back under Abruzzi's control before the new group finds the hole in the break room floor and it's the only thing he's thinking about. She adjusts and readjusts the bandage on his foot for what seems like hours even though it can't be more than a couple of seconds. She administers an insulin shot so painfully slow, it seems, even though it's her normal speed. Michael is agitated and it has nothing to do with her, but he _needs_ to get out of here.

Sara, however, is not going to pass up the opportunity to guess what's bothering him. He isn't surprised. "Does it have anything to do with the people who took these toes?"

Michael glances away, over towards her desk, where a giant bouquet of flowers is draping her files and paperwork. "Nice flowers. Do we have an admirer?"

Sara glances back down at Michael's sheet, her voice much darker than before when she says, "They're from my father."

"What's the occasion?"

"It's my birthday," Sara replies, but Michael notices it's not the usual tone one uses when they're celebrating a special moment.

"Today?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Happy birthday," He grins at her. She doesn't look at him when she thanks him. "Okay…"

"What?"

"Nothing," Michael smirks. "It's just… Birthdays aren't usually a sore subject, that's all. Unless, the celebrant is feeling her age, which, I don't see how you could be."

Sara smiles back. "I'm twenty-nine-years-old, Michael. I'm not feeling my age."

He continues to search her face for the rest of the story. She glances away when she gives it to him. "It's just that out of those twenty-nine birthdays, my father has managed to see me on precisely… six of them. So… I get flowers instead. Flowers that end up dead and in the trash a week later."

This time, it's Michael's turn to feel sorry for her. Sara can sense this and glances back at him. "That sounded bitter, huh?"

"Kind of," Michael says softly, still looking at her. She has to glance away when it gets too intense.

"It's not a big deal. You are all set; I will see you tomorrow."

He begins to walk away, but leaves her with, "I'm sorry you feel that way. About the flowers, I mean."

Unlike before, she now consumes his thoughts. He can't focus on the PI problem at hand; he's too engrossed by her story. Her father can't manage to see her on her birthday and she doesn't have anyone else to spend it with; it's understandable she'd be quite bitter. But no one should have to feel that way about their own birthday; it's the only day in the entire year where the world revolves around _you_. He's adamant he's going to change her mind. He needs to make her birthday an occasion she doesn't have to dread or feel bitter about.

He needs to make her smile again and he knows just the way to do it.

* * *

She's still in a bad mood; the entire week of her birthday is just a cause for a sour mood and Sara is sure she makes it unpleasant for everyone. Granted, her actual birthday was yesterday, but even still, all she remembers is the giant bouquet and the pathetic card she was sure was generic from the florist. Katie announces her two o'clock patient even though she knows it's Michael and even that doesn't lift her spirits. He greets her warmly, she greets him haphazardly. He glances around her shoulder and states,

"You threw away your flowers."

"Like I said," She sighs. "They don't last."

"I don't think they're dead yet," Michael remarks and Sara shakes her head.

"I don't like getting attached to things if I know they won't last."

She watches her words play out over the features of Michael's face as he processes her last statement. She's sure he's about to come out with a witty comeback; instead, he asks, seriously, "Why are you so cynical?"

It throws her for a loop, honestly, because she hadn't been expecting to get called out on her terrible mood. She falters for a moment before answering, "Michael, I think there's cynicism and there's realism."

"And there's optimism," Michael offers in suggestion. "Hope, faith."

"This coming from an eight-toed guy locked away in a penitentiary," Sara quips.

Michael smirks. "Toes are overrated."

There's the witty comeback; she knew it was coming. It doesn't get her, not now. "Thank you for trying to make me smile. Not today."

He smiles anyway. "You never know."

Sara dismisses him in irritation and he leaves the room as she slides over to her desk to file the paperwork. It isn't until a moment later that she notices it; a rose, a small, origami rose is sitting upon the monstrous stack of files on her desk. It's delicate and ornate; not something you'd learn in a beginner's class, so clearly he'd spent some time on it. She picks it up, admires it, and grins at the intricate folding and his thoughtfulness. He wins _again_; she is smiling after all.

She wants to know what it is about this tiny flower that has the power to lift her mood in a matter of seconds.


	11. And Then There Were 7

**Hi guys! Crazily enough, with this chapter, we're halfway through season 1 already. Insane, right? Well since that's the case, I just want to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading and for enjoying this story so far! It means SO much to me when you guys review to tell me so. They make my day, believe me, so keep them coming! Enjoy!**

* * *

And Then There Were 7

The moment he steps into the infirmary, he notices it. Sara's mood has delightfully improved and she greets him joyfully as he enters through the door. They make some small talk and he can't help but notice how happy she is and it makes _him_ happy, if he's being honest. He wants her to be happy, he realizes. He cares about her and he doesn't want her to ever feel like she's inadequate or unimportant, as she had days earlier on her birthday. It isn't until a few moments later that he notices something else- she'd kept the flower he'd made her, sitting behind the glass upon a shelf.

"You kept it."

"Kept what?"

"The flower," He motions towards the cabinet and she nods in affirmation.

"Well, I'm a packrat. I never throw anything out."

Michael glances around at the spotless infirmary and smirks. "Yeah, all this clutter. It's overwhelming."

She grins. "You should see my apartment."

"Whoa," He remarks, grinning back. "Haven't even had our first date yet and you're already inviting me in. Thought you were a nice girl?"

"Oh Michael," She teases, motioning for him to lift his shirt. "We all know nice girls finish last."

Michael asks, "So where do you finish?"

"That depends on where I start," She answers and then her eyes meet his and he's once again a goner.

Lately and more often than not, Michael can't seem to stop staring at her. He's knows it's dangerous and he certainly doesn't want to do anything that will cause her harm or involve her in this nightmare of a plan, but he can't help himself. He really only needed, originally, to be in the infirmary for it's location in the breakout plan; he hadn't needed to befriend Sara at all. But she's remarkable and beautiful and amusing and matches him wit for wit. He can't seem to tear himself away. He's not sure what's happening to him; this slow, burning feeling in his stomach or the soft fluttering of his heart, but these things have never happened before and they're only happening when he's with her.

She's torn away from him a moment later. Nurse Katie says the infirmary's backing up and he's all set, anyway. He's not sure where Sara stands, but he knows he's feeling strange. And surely it helps that whenever he's staring, sure enough, she's staring back.

* * *

Sara's not sure what's going on; is Katie even talking anymore? One moment they're talking about budget cuts, the next, a strange woman is kissing Michael goodbye… and he's kissing back. She glances over and notices they've just exited the conjugal room and feels like the walls of the prison are closing in on her. He's _married_. Michael Scofield is married. She's not sure what she feels right now; betrayal? Not possible, he doesn't have to tell her _everything_ and plus, she'd know that if she did a bit more research. Maybe. Guilt? No way. She and Michael didn't _do_ anything. Not really.

Even still, she feels as though these past couple of weeks have been a complete lie. As though everything he's ever said to her has all been part of some sick joke at her expense. Of course he's married; a guy like that isn't going to be single and, even if he was, he isn't going to be genuinely interested in someone like _her_. Sara feels stupid and upset and angry all at once. She wants to throw something at the wall or scream into a pillow or throw a tantrum like a toddler. But she does none of these things because she's not that kind of person. She isn't jealous of this nameless, faceless woman. She isn't angry at Michael. If anything, she's angry at herself, upset with herself, because she can't believe she's allowed herself to be this _stupid_. Feeling whatever it is she feels- no, _felt_- toward Michael is the number one thing she promised herself and her employer she'd _never_ do.

She confronts Michael about it later that afternoon and doesn't quite know what to say. "So… You're married."

"Uh… well," He tries to laugh it off, play it as a joke, but she isn't having any of it. "Not in the traditional sense of the word."

"Michael, we're both adults," She tells him, no-nonsense once more. "Put your cards on the table."

He says nothing at first, but his smile fades slightly, so she takes this opportunity to speak herself. "Okay, I'll go first. As one of the very few women around here, I'm used to a sort of innuendo and flirtation being thrown my way… I'm not used to enjoying it."

He grins and she hates him for it and hates herself for causing it. "Sara…"

"It's Doctor Tancredi and please let me finish," She corrects immediately and the grin slips off his face. "I'm not a jealous woman. But I am a careful one. And for some reason, when I'm around you, I'm not careful."

"You don't have to be." Michael insists but Sara shakes her head.

"Yes I do," She's adamant. "There are so many questions surrounding you, Michael. There are way too many. So here's the deal: from now on, your shots, any medical concerns, they're all fine as long as it's doctor-patient. But personal questions and favors of any kind are no longer a part of our relationship."

She turns to go before he can say anything that may change her mind. He tries anyway. "The questions you have about me… There are answers."

Sara keeps walking. She let herself get too close; she let Michael in too far and now she'll have to pay the price. She vows to distance herself from him and hopes it'll be her saving grace.


	12. Odd Man Out

Odd Man Out

Michael's hopeful that whatever caused Sara to retract on their newfound friendship has passed as he enters the infirmary the next afternoon. She's nowhere to be found, at least not yet, and therefore he has time to check the progress he's making on the pipe below the floor. Instead, Bellick comes barging in with accusations of credit cards and contraband moments before Sara arrives. It's humiliating and humbling, but Michael endures it because there is really nothing else he can do. He avoids Sara's eye most of the time, but the one moment he does chance a glance at her, she isn't looking back.

"Maybe 'whore's' too strong," Bellick laughs. "What do you call a girl who married a felon to get into the United States? What did she have to come here for anyway? No strip clubs in Whazistan?"

"Office Bellick," Sara interrupts in irritation.

He immediately shoots back "_Captain_."

Michael lets the two of them sort it out and takes his usual seat on the table. He's trying to think of a way to smooth things over with Sara; he hadn't thought Nika would have upset her this much, but maybe it wasn't _her_ so much as it was that he didn't mention her beforehand. Even still, if he had, they certainly wouldn't have grown as close as they have. And besides, it's a green-card marriage; he doesn't think of Nika as anything more than a friend. He certainly isn't in love with her- it's not a marriage in the traditional sense, which is exactly what he'd told Sara the day before.

She sits before him and preps her equipment. Michael opens with, "He's had it out for me since the day I got here."

Sara doesn't respond. She only grabs his hand and asks him to, "Hold still, please."

"Sorry," He says quietly and waits a minute or two for her to say something, _anything_, else. She doesn't. So he explains, "I only married her so she could get her green card."

Sara looks skeptical and when she speaks, he understands why. "I saw you coming out of the conjugal room."

"It's just business," He insists and he's sure he's seen her roll her eyes.

"You don't have to explain it to me, Michael."

"I know," He replies. "But I want to."

She stands and leaves the room without another word. Michael watches her go in disappointment and wonders how he's ever going to make up for this indiscretion. He needs to rebuild their relationship on the shaky foundation they're on now, not for any other reason than to clear his conscience. It isn't for anyone else's benefit but his own; he wants to be back on solid ground with Sara because, truthfully, he's enjoyed her company too much to be suffering in this prison without it.

But he's out of ideas and he's not sure what to do next.


	13. End of the Tunnel

End of the Tunnel

Sara has to say that this no-personal-questions-or-favors deal she has with Michael is less entertaining but much healthier than the relationship she'd previously had with him. She can tell he is attempting at every angle to get their old friendship back, but she is denying him helplessly at every turn. She knows him much better now than she did before, however, and knows he doesn't tire easily. He won't go down without a fight and these next five years will most likely be incredibly difficult to handle. Sara's prepared. She's ready to deal with even the most difficult of days.

One of those days seems to be today. Lincoln's execution is tomorrow and Michael is, understandably, extremely agitated. He comes in today for his daily insulin shot with a wide gash on his upper left arm and Sara wonders, emptily, where this one came from. Her least favorite part about seeing Michael everyday is anticipating where his newest injury will be, because he seems to always have one. She's not sure how he's become the prison yard's punching bag, but she's sure that if he'd taken her up on that move to ad seg, he'd have been much safer.

"Feels like you've been the clean up crew for me the whole time I've been in here," Michael tells her today as she's bandaging his newest wound. "Toes, contusions, insulin shots…"

"Well, somebody's got to do it," Sara tells him, avoiding the eye contact he's clearly seeking.

"I'm grateful," He tells her sincerely and she's glad she isn't looking at him, for she's sure she'd melt. "You ever think, in another life-"

"I won't be that woman, Michael," Sara denies, cutting him off before he says something neither of them need to hear.

"I wasn't asking you to be," He says just as quickly. "But it is something to wonder about… What if? Anyway, I just wanted to make sure it was said."

"Why do I feel like you're saying goodbye to me?" Sara asks, then, alarmed and for the first time in the entire conversation, she allows herself to meet his eyes.

He smiles at her and she knows it was a bad decision instantly. "I don't know. I guess in a place like this you never know which day is going to be your last."

She's not sure what he means; there are many ways to interpret that statement and she doesn't want to admit it but he's kind of scaring her, with talk like this. She doesn't get a moment to think about it, though; Katie comes in a moment later talking of a backup in sickbay and that's that. She tapes the bandage, tells him he's set and turns to go. But in a moment's weakness, she hesitates. She can't not say it, not when she's so involved now, not when it's so close. She turns, looks Michael dead in the eye and says,

"I, uh," Sara starts and pushes herself forward. "I'm sorry about your brother."

He doesn't say anything at first, so she begins to leave. But he catches her elbow, runs a hand tantalizingly slow and smooth down her arm until he's captured her hand. "Doctor… Thank you."

She stares at her hand in his until he's taken his away and left the room. There are patients waiting to be seen, cases waiting to be filed, paperwork to be done. But she can't stop thinking about him and it's _killing_ her because she doesn't need this, she doesn't _want_ this, not right now. But it's twofold; part of her _does_ want it. Part of her wants it really badly and she can't help but admit it and it feels _so good_. But it's wrong, she knows it's wrong. But it's how she feels, so how can it be wrong? She needs to do something about it because she can't keep going on like this. She can't and she won't and she refuses to.

It's going to be a _long_ five years.


	14. The Rat

The Rat

"_There is only one person who can stop this execution_."

Michael knows it's a long-shot; hell, from the very first day, Sara had been adamant that she and her father did not see eye to eye on political matters, but with sixteen hours left until Lincoln's death, it's worth a shot. He's desperate; the piping setback had only further thrown a wrench into his plan and had set him on edge. He and Lincoln (and C-Note and Sucre and Abruzzi and T-Bag and Westmoreland) _should_ be out on the open road by now, somewhere between New Mexico and Arizona, heading towards Panama as soon as humanly possible. Instead, they're still stuck here and the electric chair is getting closer and closer to claiming one of them.

Sara's still looking as stern as ever, he notices, as he enters the infirmary that afternoon, but he's still going to try. He remembers what she'd said; personal questions and favors of any kind are no longer a part of their relationship and he respects that. But this is a matter of life and death; this is a matter of killing an innocent man and, surely, she wouldn't want to let that happen if there is a slight chance that she could change fate. Michael asks Sara to speak with Lincoln, but they are both denied; he must, unfortunately, wait until final visitation for a chance to meet with him. Undeterred, Michael makes another request.

"Would you talk to your father for me?" His voice is shaking as he asks and he wishes he could stop it from doing so and wishes he could stop the pity from rising in Sara's eyes. "Please?"

"Believe me, my father knows where I stand on the death penalty," Sara begins gently. "And I'm just as clear on-"

"Sara, uh, Doctor Tancredi, I'm sorry," Michael sighs. "This isn't about the morality of the death penalty. This is about killing an innocent man- my brother. And surely your father can't be in favor of that."

Sara doesn't look as though he's won her over, so Michael insists, "Just talk to his attorneys. Just for an hour, and I swear you'll be convinced of his innocence."

"Michael," Sara says firmly. "I would pick up the phone right now if I thought there was any chance that I could make a difference. But you have to understand- I'm the _last_ person in the world that my father listens to."

He frowns. She continues, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "He hates what I do. He hates what I believe in. And if I'm the one asking for clemency for your brother, your brother won't get it."

It's a cold, hard reality check. He'd asked for help and she'd given him the answer he'd expected most- Frank Tancredi is not going to give in. Unless Michael could figure out some way to delay the execution long enough to redesign key points in his breakout plan, Lincoln is going to die _tonight_. Sara apologizes again but it doesn't help him, not this time. There's nothing she can do, nothing _anyone _can do, to save Lincoln tonight and the thought feels like a knife in his heart. He's going to have to do the one thing he came here to prevent- he's going to have to watch his brother die.

He's too late.

* * *

Lincoln's hands are trembling; it's the only dead giveaway that he's anxious or nervous about what's about to occur that evening. His voice is steady, his breathing is calm, his entire body is solid as a rock, but his hands are shaking. He wrings them over and over again until Sara can't take it anymore. She reaches out, places one of her own on top of his in order to calm them, and he stills. She asks if he has any questions and he asks a million about what things will look like, feel like, smell like as he makes his final trek to die. He then inquires if she's ever done this before and Sara imagines she looks faintly ill when she tells him she hasn't and that she has to be present that very evening to supervise.

"Can I ask a favor?" Lincoln then says and Sara nods.

"Yeah," She's eager to give the dying man anything he wishes. "What?"

"When I'm gone," Lincoln pleads softly, meeting her eyes sincerely. "Will you look out for my brother?"

And that's when this entire thing becomes real. It isn't the final physical that does it or his trembling hands or the fact that she knows she has to present tonight to affirm his death. It isn't the pleading tone in his voice or, earlier, the desperation in Michael's. It's this final statement that Lincoln poses, because he knows he is the last person on Earth that Michael has and he's being viciously taken away. Sara is speechless and sure she neither agrees nor disagrees to look after Michael. Instead, she leaves the prison, tracks down Veronica Donovan and Nick Savrinn and is, ultimately, convinced that Lincoln Burrows is in fact innocent.

She finds her father and attempts, at all angles, the force the information on him. But as the old saying goes, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Sara explains the new evidence that may technically be considered circumstantial but is too prevalent to ignore. Frank barely listens to everything she has to say before denying her, pushing the case file back in her open arms. She's frustrated, she's angry and she's annoyed; surely, if this had come from one of his glorified partners he'd be eager to read over the file. He makes some allusion to her being a child- he always slips in one of these, classic Frank- and asking for a new bike or something equally ridiculous before Sara turns to go.

"I have to go back to Fox River. I have to be there when they kill this man. The least you can do is review his case," Sara insists bitterly. "And, Dad, if it helps, pretend it didn't come from me."

And he must, because later, hours later, as they're leading a chained and shackled Lincoln Burrows to the execution room, there is an urgent phone call for warden Henry Pope from the governor. They wait on baited breath as Pope listens to everything he has to say; Sara chances a glance at Michael, who glances back with a look of gratefulness that humbles her to the core. Of course, a moment later Pope announces that her father will not be granting clemency and it was all for nothing. She can't look at Michael, she can't look at Lincoln, she can't look at _anyone_. She feels like it's her fault, like she failed them in some way. She couldn't convince her father to grant clemency and now, an innocent man will die for it. It's in Sara's nature to want to help, but in the moment it mattered most, she couldn't.

She's too late.


	15. By the Skin and the Teeth

By the Skin and the Teeth

White-hot searing pain. A thousand piercing knives being jammed into his back. Nails, needles, glass. Being set on fire. Being pierced with a jagged shard of broken glass. Being pierced with ten thousand shards of broken glass. Getting torched with an open flame. Peeling layers of his skin back one by one by one. Revealing the flesh below, the bone, the cartilage, the marrow. Blood, sweat, pain. Tears, sweat, pain. Blood, blood, blood. He's been tattooed from the waist up with no prior history of needles. He's lost two toes from a pair of garden shears with no anesthetic. But still, it didn't feel like this.

He can barely make it back to his cell. Sucre is panicking and speaking rapidly and refusing to take off the jacket but Michael can't keep it on and he knows it. He can't see how bad the burn is, but he can _feel_ how bad the burn is and is sure that however badly it hurt, this is going to hurt even more. He painstakingly arches his back and removes his arms from the sleeves, begging Sucre to pull it off. It has to come off. It _has_ to. Reluctantly, Sucre leans over him, grabs both sides of the jacket and counts to three. The anticipation is the worst part, Michael thinks. The waiting. Knowing pain is coming but not knowing how bad. Waiting for the pain to begin is worse than the pain itself, he believes.

That is, until a moment later, when the jacket is torn off and he lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

* * *

Sara has never seen a burn this bad in her life. She has no idea how something like this could even happen to an inmate in the middle of the night. She does know, however, that she found a small particle of cloth embedded in the charred layers of Michael's skin and that it doesn't match the type of clothes prisoners wear. Strange, but she'll have more time to examine it later. She notices, now, that Michael is awakening and he looks dazed and confused and out of it, just as she'd expected. She stands and kneels closer to him, because he's been through a trauma and she wants the first face he sees to be a familiar one.

"Michael, it's Sara," She says quietly and only then remembers her 'nothing-personal' rule and how she'd corrected him ("_It's Doctor Tancredi_."). Screw the rule. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy," He grumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.

She smiles. "That's the anesthesia."

"Why did I have anesthesia?"

"We had to perform a procedure," Sara explains gently and Michael's brow furrows. She stands and offers him some painkillers just as he asks how bad it is. "I, uh, I'd take the pills."

"Do I get to see it?" He asks as he tips the cup into his mouth and washes it down with some water.

Sara negates this. "No. Bandage stays on for now."

He's still drinking when she asks, "Did your cellmate do this to you?"

"Sucre?" Michael almost laughs. "No."

"Who did?"

She can tell he's about to be stubborn and she's correct. "This is the part where I don't answer you."

"Right," Sara sighs. "I'll have you sent back to your cell."

It's frustrating, sure, that he won't tell her who burned him this badly, but it's not as though she expected otherwise. She goes back to the swatch of cloth and shows it to Katie and it's strange, really. She can't quite tell how the burn happened, but Michael has to cooperate, this time. Because this piece of fabric certainly came from a guard's uniform and if he's being physically abused by one of her coworkers, she needs to let someone know.


	16. Brother's Keeper

Brother's Keeper

"_You know what I want? To not have to be the older brother to my older brother._"

He regrets saying these words more than anything in the world. He watches as his brother is carted away from him, brought to a holding cell until his transfer to death row, his transfer to prison. He can't do anything about it and he hates that Lincoln's gotten himself roped into a high-profile murder case, but he can't say with certainty that he hates Lincoln. Because it wouldn't be true. No matter how much of a fuck up Lincoln is, Michael loves him to death and he's the only person in this world, save for his nephew, that Michael cares about. He regrets his words, his actions. But he wishes Lincoln would've turned his life around. He regrets his words, but it doesn't mean they aren't true.

"_Michael, you are where you are because of your brother._"

"_You're telling me he is where he is because of me._"

It's his fault; everything is his fault. He'd spent years acting as though he was the better brother because he had a graduate degree, a high-paying job, a spacious loft… It turns out Lincoln is the reason he had all of these things and he hadn't even known it. A momentary visitation with his brother proves that he's innocent and that's all it takes; Michael is going to do everything he can to get his brother out of there. His firm still has the blueprints to Fox River somewhere; he'll iron out the details later. But he's going to save his brother's life, just like Lincoln had saved his all those years ago.

It's what brothers do. It's what they're for.

He owes him.

* * *

"_Are you a doctor? Well, aren't you going to help him? Do something!_"

The woman's voice comes in a harsh cacophony, as if she's a cartoon or a character in a Tim Burton movie and all Sara can do is stare at her. She's screaming something Sara can't make out and there's a kid on the pavement and blood everywhere but why is the bike upright? Maybe the kid fell off and is okay but his knee is bent at an odd angle and he has two heads, no one, no seven, no one. The sky is purple and it's closing in on her and people are gathering and pushing and shoving and flying and flocking to the scene and still Sara does nothing. There are sirens in the background and morphine in her pocket and she needs to get out of here. She needs to do something.

She needs to get help.

"_I want to help people get from where I was to where I am_."

The support group has been nothing but beneficial and Sara is sure she's on the path to recovery. Her father has ceased ignoring most of her calls, there aren't any junkie boyfriends in the picture and she's _this close_ to finding an actual job. A portly man in the meeting suggests a job at Fox River and Sara can't even imagine working at a penitentiary, at least not at first. But the more she thinks about it, the more appealing it becomes. She's sure there are inmates in there who have suffered from the same inner demons as herself and, later that week, she finds herself accepting the position at Fox River State Penitentiary.

She wants to make a difference and what better place to start than at a correctional facility. Surely, there must be someone she can save.


	17. J-Cat

J-Cat

"I know I sound like a broken record, but you work too hard," Katie says, twisting her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle. "You need to get out, hang out with your friends more. What about men?"

"Ugh," Sara groans. "If this is your exposé on my social life, it's about to be a real sad one. I've had some bad luck when it comes to relationships."

"You had bad luck?" Katie wonders. "Or you had bad boys?"

Sara has to give her that. Her dating history is _pathetic_. "I think I managed to have a little of both."

Katie shoots her a look and Sara defends, "You know, you're right. I don't tend to go for the nice guys. I like the ones with the deep-seated emotional issues that I can internalize and make my own."

"Mm-hm," Katie nods. "Like Scofield?"

Sara hesitates a moment before denying this. She obviously hasn't been as subtle with her feelings as she thought. "No, not like Scofield."

"Don't lie to me," Katie eyes her. "Every time he comes in for his shot, you spend twenty minutes rolling up his sleeve!"

Color rises on her cheeks. "You know what? I think he's interesting… and I think he's attractive, but he's still an inmate. And I can promise you one thing and that is that you will never see anything happen between me and an inmate."

Katie looks skeptical and Sara knows she doesn't have her convinced. Sara's not even sure she's convinced herself. She's admitted, _out loud_, that she finds Michael attractive and that's enough ammunition for Katie to tease her endlessly about it. But she doesn't and Sara's grateful. It's true-she's got feelings for Michael; she does. They hardly scratch the surface of anything real, and she barely knows him at all, but she can't help but feel this way. Something is pulling her towards him no matter how hard she fights it. And as if the universe finds it amusing, she gets a call from the prison, just then, about a medical situation that just happens to deal with Michael.

She learns he's been placed in solitary for his inability to give up whoever it was that burned him and Lincoln had alerted the guards when Michael was unresponsive. They open the heavy iron door to find Michael kneeling on the ground, not moving and breathing slowly and calmly, as if he was asleep. Sara nods toward the guards, telling them she's alright by herself, and they shrug and shut the door behind her. When the turn the lights on in the chamber, there are strips of cloth littering the floor in some sort of pattern she can't make out and a mirrored pattern on the concrete wall. Only, this one is laid out in blood.

She kneels beside him. "Michael?"

No response. She honestly wasn't expecting one. He's drooling, clutching his injured hand, and she gently pries it away from his chest. "Let me see your hand."

It's battered and bloody, as if he'd pounded it repeatedly into a hard surface. Judging by the blood pattern on the wall, that theory seems pretty accurate. Just as she's running a finger over his knuckles, examining how deep the cuts are, Michael seems to lean into her, craving comfort, seeking solace. And she knows she's probably imagining it- he's nearly catatonic- but she brings her free hand around him, rubs his back a little, does anything she can to somehow take the incredible burden off of his shoulders.

"You're okay," She whispers. "You're going to be okay."

It's breaking her heart to watch him like this and she knows, if she didn't care for him, it wouldn't affect her like this. But nothing will ever happen between her and an inmate; she promised Katie and herself that this was true.

Unfortunately, she's not very convincing.


	18. Bluff

**Three for one! I'm on a roll today ;)**

* * *

Bluff

She's been tracking his progress with the doctors and nurses in the psych ward, and so far, he's been rapidly improving. Sara has to admit her afternoons have been fairly lonely without her daily visits with Michael. Katie doesn't make too many comments at her expense and Sara's grateful for it. She's even more grateful, however, when she gets word from the psych ward that Michael has requested a visit with her; if he's improved enough out of his catatonic state, perhaps he'd be able to return to Gen Pop.

She makes her way through the halls of the psych ward and is led to his cell. He looks ten times better than he did the last time she saw him and this is incredibly reassuring. "Hi. They said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah," Michael smiles and motions for her to enter his cell, to sit upon his bed. She does. She's not sure what to say, but he begins speaking first. "I made you something."

Sara smiles slightly, watching as he bends over and produces something from beneath his bunk. It's cold and hard and formed from modeling clay and he places it in her hands. She isn't sure what it is; it looks either like a very shallow bowl or a curved saucer. Upon seeing her confusion, Michael clarifies, "It's an ashtray."

"Um," She chuckles slightly. "I don't smoke."

"Yeah, I know. But they only let us make these or jewelry," Michael explains, grinning. "And I didn't figure you for the macaroni necklace type."

"That's very sweet," Sara grins back, but before she can get too caught up in his thoughtfulness (or his smile, or his _eyes_), she changes the subject. "How about we talk about how you're doing?"

Michael takes a deep breath, chancing a glance at the door to be sure they're out of earshot. "I think we both know I don't belong here. I don't remember much about that night, but being in ad seg… Something must've snapped."

Sara nods her understanding. Michael says, "What I'm trying to say is, I think I've had enough of arts and crafts. But that's your call."

"And the doctors here do say that you've been acting fine," Sara informs him and he doesn't seem at all surprised to hear that. "The problem is that if you don't tell the Pope who burned you, he's going to lock you back up in ad seg. And after a couple days of that, you're going to be right back here."

He sighs and glances away. Sara tentatively reaches out and wraps an uneasy hand around his lower arm. "Michael, I hate what happened to you and I hate that you're here. But you've got to let me help you."

His eyes snap to hers and she's sure she's convinced him. "If you want to get out of psych ward and stay out, you've got to tell the Pope the truth about that burn."

He seems to agree and for once Sara's sure she's gotten through to him. She has other patients and must head back to the infirmary; it isn't until she's returned that she realizes she's still holding that clay ashtray. She smiles, shakes her head and places it near the origami rose. She'll start a collection, she thinks, of all the crafts Michael makes for her. It'll be an interesting conversational piece, to say the least.

She's not sure who will want to talk about it, but she keeps it all the same.


	19. The Key

**I really hope I did this episode justice and I apologize in advance if I didn't lol. Enjoy, maybe?**

* * *

The Key

He hadn't meant for it to happen this way, but he wakes up this morning and knows for sure. Sara Tancredi is the key to this whole plan coming together. If he can't figure out a way to get into the infirmary, he, his brother and the rag-tag group of cons they're breaking out with are not going anywhere. Michael waits outside the infirmary, locking it behind Katie as she exits, and watches as Sara enters the hall, reading from a file that is, most likely, his own. She glances up at him, tosses a guilty look over her shoulder at the COs who aren't paying any attention to them, and smiles back at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Michael smiles back, taking note of the key she uses to unlock the door.

"How're you feeling today?"

"Better," He answers and takes his usual seat upon the table.

The key is dangling from a chain inside her coat pocket. He can see the sunlight catch the metal ring every time Sara moves and each time is slips by him, he misses his chance to snatch it. He doesn't want to pull the same stunt on Sara as Tweener did on Geary a week or so ago. It's not the same caliber; this key is much more important. _Sara is much more important_, a voice in the back of his mind shouts and Michael tries to ignore it. He watches, instead, as Sara snaps on a pair of latex gloves, pulls back the privacy curtain and begins to dress the oozing burn on his back.

Sara steps away a moment and Michael thinks fast. He must think of a plan… or at least that's what he's telling himself when he abandons his better judgment a moment later. Sara turns around and without another thought, Michael leans forward and kisses her. She's startled at first, taken aback, but she doesn't protest. She kisses back. He knows what they're doing is wrong (but how can it be wrong when it feels so _right?_) and he still needs to figure out how to get the key but he doesn't care, not right now. He's kissing Sara, he's _kissing_ her, and her lips are warm and soft and she smells like the ocean though they're far from it and _damn it_, he's done pretending he hasn't wanted this for so long.

She pulls away first and she's looking at him in confusion and shock and adoration. "What do you want from me, Michael?"

"Sara," He speaks her name gently, delicately, as if it was porcelain tumbling from his mouth. "I need you to do something for me."

Her hands are still cupping his face. They drop slightly as if she's prepared to do whatever he's asking of her right away. She nods softly. "What?"

Michael glances at the key but he doesn't care enough and he cares too much to ask for it. "Wait for me."

She stares back at him, her stunning hazel eyes alight with hope and promise. Michael leans forward, rests her forehead against hers and runs a hand through her hair, relishing in the silky feel of her curls tumbling through his fingers. He promises, "It won't always be like this. In this room. In this place."

And for a moment, she appears as though she believes him. But she catches his hand as it trails down her cheek and kisses it and he knows she's going to deny him. "Until then, I can't. _We_ can't."

The door opens and snaps the both of them out of their reverie. Sara repeats this like a mantra she's trying to convince both of them is true. "Damn it. I can't. And I… I got to go."

Her eyes, which once held the hope and promise of a future together, are now filled with more emotion Michael has ever seen and his heart gives a painful tug in his chest. He watches as she walks away, the key still dangling from her pocket, and knows he's made no progress in the plan. He feels even worse than he had before; he's unnecessarily dragged Sara into this, now, and he knows it's only going to get harder from here on out. He must find a different way to obtain the key and he hopes, in his heart of hearts, she'll be able to forgive him for what he's about to do.

Sucre asks if he's working a game on Sara and Michael isn't lying when he tells him he doesn't know. At first, it had seemed that way. He was only in the infirmary for business; diffuse the pipe, work the charm act, etc. But somewhere along the way, he stopped having to work for it. It stopped being a game and he had actually started to _feel_. He'd certainly never felt this way before. And this is why it absolutely kills him when he visits her later that afternoon and can tell she knows about the key.

"You've got a maintenance guy out here," Katie states. "He says you want him to change the locks. Want me to call him off?"

Sara's eyes never leave his. "No, send him in."

He tries not to let his panic show, but he knows she can read him like a book. She asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No," Michael puts on his best calm exterior to cover his disappointment. "Unless you want to talk about what happened this morning?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea," Sara tells him coolly. "We're done here."

He's screwed, in more ways than one. He's sure there's a double entendre in her words and sooner or later, he's going to have to come clean, to let her in.

He only has one choice now- he has to ask for help.


	20. Tonight

**As far as I'm concerned, the three episodes where they break out go together; you can't separate them. Therefore, you'll be getting all three at some point today. By the end of the day, we'll be done with season 1 already! Crazy, huh? Don't you worry, though. Season 2 is where all the fun begins. ;)**

* * *

Tonight

The hole's been discovered. Bellick's been tied up and forced through, but it won't be long before someone realizes he's missing. They have to go _tonight_. Michael feels every heavy step as he's led to the infirmary and he's almost positive Sara's going to deny him, but she's his only option and he _has_ to turn to her. He wishes it didn't have to be this way. He cares about Sara too much to ruin her life this way, but he doesn't have another choice. Michael knows she thinks he's used her and he hasn't, not really, at least not now. Maybe at first, but that's before he'd realized how much he cared about her, how much he likes her.

She looks just as pissed as she had been the day earlier. Michael starts, "Sara… I was thinking-"

"Enough, Michael," Sara cuts him short. "Enough with the lies and the coincidences and the stories, all of it."

He insists, "It's not what you think."

"I know what you did," Sara accuses. "The question is, are you man enough to admit it?"

He sighs. "The keys."

"Congratulations," She deadpans. "Is that the first time you've been honest with me?"

"It's not."

"Second?" She asks. "What are you after, Michael? Is it drugs? Is it needles?"

"Neither," Michael says honestly.

"Then what?"

"Please understand," He begins to explain. "That I never meant to involve you in this."

"Well," She chuckles sarcastically. "You've done a pretty poor job of that."

"But I came here to tell you something," He continues. "I'm getting my brother out of here. Tonight. And I need your help."

Michael watches his words sink in as her face changes. "Michael, honestly, for your own good, don't say anything more."

"You know he's innocent."

"Do what you're talking about and he won't be."

"But he'll still be alive."

"Do you understand that I'm required to report everything you're telling me?" She asks and when he says yes, she inquires, "Then why would you?"

"Because you're the only one that can help," Michael tells her. "Because I know you want to be part of the solution."

"Yeah," She quips. "Aiding and abetting is not part of the solution."

"Neither is doing nothing knowing what you know about his case," Michael counters and he knows he's hit a sore spot.

"How dare you put this on me," Sara argues. "I did what I could. I gave the information to my father-"

"No offense to your father," Michael cuts her off. "But the people who are framing Lincoln… Let's just say they have a higher security clearance."

"Oh, now it's a conspiracy?" Sara wonders sardonically and Michael sighs.

"I didn't come here to have a debate."

"You're asking me to break the law!"

"I'm asking you to make a mistake," Michael corrects. "Not hurt anyone, not steal anything. Just… forget to lock-up. Leave the door unlocked when you leave tonight. That's it."

"This is where you're breaking out of?" Sara asks. "This room?"

"There are alarm contacts on the glass surrounding the door," Michael explains, knowing this is only hurting his case… and hurting her. "Otherwise, I wouldn't need you to…"

"I was part of your plan," Sara finishes, her face falling, appearing as though she's been placed with a terrible burden. And, honestly, she has. "Was it all an act?"

"At first, yes. I needed to be here." He tells her and pleads with her to believe him. "But then I wanted to be here, with you."

She rolls her eyes. "Right."

"And it's killing me to know that you'll never believe that," Michael finishes, stepping closer. She doesn't move away and he takes this as a small victory. "Whatever you may think of me, this is about Lincoln. Don't make him pay for my mistakes."

She turns and leaves the room without another word. Michael hopes it was enough to get through to her and knows it's what he had to do in order to get out of her and save his brother's life. He only wishes he didn't have to do it the way he did. His relationship with Sara had been compromised (_It's the first time he has to choose between Sara and Lincoln, but it isn't the last_) but hopefully, _hopefully_, somewhere down the line, he'll be able to repair it.

After all, he's already altered his plans to accommodate her, too.


	21. Go

Go

She can't believe she's doing this. Sara paces around the darkened, empty infirmary and tries to imagine Michael and Lincoln retracing her steps, pushing open the window, climbing out into the night. She's not sure how they're going to make it past the iron bars, but if Michael's planned this far, she's sure he has a plan for this. She has to get out of here. She pushes through the door and closes it behind her. If anyone should be watching, through security cameras or what-have-you, Sara fakes locking the door, going through all the motions but not following through. She can't. She has to leave it open.

She's doing this for her father, or, rather, because of him. He had never been there for her, he had never listened to her, he had never believed in her. But the straw that broke the camel's back, the _one thing_ that pushed her over the edge had happened that very afternoon. He hadn't read and reviewed Lincoln's case; he hadn't even _looked_ at it. And she really shouldn't be shocked, but she still is, because she was hoping that after all this time, this significant case, this matter of life and death, would finally make him value her suggestions and opinions. But it hadn't. And so if her father isn't willing to help Lincoln Burrows, Sara's going to show him that _she_ is.

She's doing this for Lincoln, too, because after hearing everything his attorneys had to say, after reviewing all the new evidence she hadn't seen before, after spending weeks giving him physical examinations and noting how calm and patient and agreeable he was, there is no doubt in her mind that Lincoln is innocent. Michael had told her she couldn't let this go knowing what she knows about the case and as much as she wants to deny this, it's true. There is no way she wants Lincoln's death on her conscience. There is no way she wants to allow an innocent man to die.

And as much as she doesn't want to admit it, she's doing it for Michael, too. He may not even care about her, he may never have cared about her, but she cares _so much_ about him and she can't have him here, resenting her for it. And she knows she's going to be in trouble; she'll be facing jail time herself, most likely. But it's for Michael; she wants him to be free and safe and happy, even if it means sacrificing her own safety and freedom and happiness, even if it means he's not with her. She will most likely never see him again; why would she? He'll probably be on his way to Mexico by the morning. But she hopes he'll think of her, every now and then; of what she did for him and what she gave up. She's angry and humiliated and absolutely gutted as she leaves the infirmary.

But she waits until she's in the safety of her car to break down in tears.

* * *

"It better be open, bro," Sucre says and Michael nods, his hand curling around the cool metal of the door handle.

He inhales and exhales slowly before turning the handle. The door clicks open; Sara's left it unlocked. There is a collective sigh of relief before they're through the door, working fast. They begin to work the bars off the window in a flurry of activity and motion, but Michael can't help but think of Sara. She'd come through for them, in the end, but now, she is involved. She is just as unsafe as the rest of them are going to be the moment they climb over those walls. He takes a moment, then, to snatch a plain piece of paper off of her desk and scrawl her a message.

What should he say to the woman who saved his brother's life? To the woman who sacrificed everything, to the woman whose life he essentially ruined? "I'm sorry" doesn't seem to quite cover exactly how badly he feels. He can't seem to come up with the right thing to say; instead, he decides, and again, it's a long-shot, throw a wrench in the plan once more. He snatches a pen and writes, simply, '_There's a plan to make all of this right_.' He only hopes she'll be able to crack the code and get to him on time. That is, if she wants to. There's a very good chance he may never see Sara Tancredi ever again.

Michael expertly folds this message into an origami crane and tucks it inside the confines of her abandoned purse he'd found lying beside her desk. Moments later, he's across the power line and over the wall, bounding into the night as sirens and alarms wail into the darkness. He doesn't dare turn around, not with police and dogs at his heels. Instead, he heads down Fitz Street with the rest of his prison mates, heading into the forest to look for the abandoned truck. It's already been a hell of a night and he's looking forward to boarding the plane and getting the _hell_ out of here. For good.

And even though it's just beginning, Michael is already filled with so much regret.


	22. Flight

**Here it is- the end of season 1! I can't believe we're here already, but there's still so much to tell. So enjoy the end of season 1 and tomorrow, be ready for season 2, because it is on its way! Updates will remain as regular as they have been; how, you ask? Well, I've written all of these chapters ahead of time; when I posted the first chapter- the Pilot- I was in the middle of writing season 2. Now, as I'm posting this chapter, I have _just_ finished "Killing Your Number" (and made myself cry writing it, I might add). All I have left to write is The Final Break.**

**Which I can't say I'm looking forward to writing, to be honest. :P So... yeah. They're all already written. I just proofread before I post, just in case. So be on the lookout, because updates will come quickly and regularly!**

* * *

Flight

"_These doors are locked every night before we leave. That's priority number one. The only thing I can think of is…_"

"_What?_"

"_Someone left it open for them_."

It doesn't hurt anymore. It hurt; it hurt all night and very badly, too, but it stopped hurting. She isn't thinking about Michael, anymore, or Lincoln or the infirmary. She isn't watching the news, watching the manhunt shape up before her very eyes. The alcohol burned going down, at first, but she must be numb, now, because she doesn't feel anything when she tosses another back. But the morphine… The morphine greets Sara like an old friend. It courses through her veins and chills her to the bone and takes her pain away. The last thing she remembers is her phone ringing before she yanks the cord out of the wall, vomits a little, and collapses on the couch.

There's a pounding on her front door, but Sara can't answer. Sara can't do much of anything, anymore. She's floating just a few feet above her body, staring at the cold, clamminess of her skin, the color all gone now, just pale and white like the underbelly of a fish. The door bursts open and officers barge in and she wants to shout to them that she's okay and she's here and yes, she did it, she's guilty, take her away. But she cannot. She cannot do anything; she isn't breathing, anymore. Her heartbeats are getting further and further apart and she's beginning to float further and further away from her body. Somewhere, in the depths of her mind, she remembers you're not supposed to mix drugs and alcohol. But it's too late, now.

"_Possible overdose, likely DOA_…"

* * *

The airplane passes overhead in a rush of wind and exhaust no matter how much they wave their arms and shout. There are sirens and policemen and a K-9 unit on their tail and there's no other option but to run. There's nowhere to go; they're in an open field and this hadn't been part of the plan. Michael is still wearing half a set of handcuffs and he can hear Lincoln's heavy breathing beside him as they take off through the forest. If they can hide out here, if they can make it to town without being followed, if they can get to a car in order to reach Utah, they should be fine.

It's too many ifs.


	23. Manhunt

**And here we go, folks! On to season 2! Thank you so, so much for all of the incredible feedback and please, keep it coming!**

* * *

Manhunt

"_I need to speak with her_."

"_Well right now, Mr. Mahone, she's not going to be speaking with anyone._"

A beeping sound. Harsh medical light. The scent of Clorox. Squeaky gurney wheels. And, out of nowhere, a flash of brilliant blue eyes.

"_How are we doing?_"

"_Well, the IVs are hydrating her. We've got her on a naloxone infusion, half milligram per hour._"

More beeping. Incessant beeping. Steady beeping. Low, murmuring voices and the taste of plastic tubing. Incredibly gentle hands running through her hair, caressing her arm, holding her hand. Endless, mysterious tattoo. Origami rose. Gandhi.

"_What do you think the chances are?_"

"_Well, we've done everything on our end; it's really up to her. Either she fights and lives… or, she quits and dies_."

Suddenly, it's all so clear; Michael. All she sees is Michael. She remembers everything all at once; kissing him in the infirmary, delightfully and deliciously sinful. She recalls arguing with her father, learning he hadn't reviewed Lincoln's case, leaving the door unlocked, the morphine, the alcohol, the overdose. As if jolted by the powers that be, Sara is shocked awake and chokes a little on the ventilator, which alerts the nurses that she's rejoined the land of the living. They remove her tubing, allow her to breathe and recover a bit, before they allow the police in to question her.

They inform her that she's being considered an accessory to a massive breakout; nothing she isn't already aware of. She'd been sure she would be facing jail time the moment she decided to leave the door unlocked in the first place. Still, she tells them she didn't willingly leave the door unlocked and denies have had a sexual relationship with Michael. Sara avoids the question of her feelings for him, because even now, even though she's unbelievably and incredibly angry with him (but not as angry as she is with herself), she still isn't sure how to put her feelings for him into words. It is, however, news to her that seven other men had broken out with him.

Hours later, as she's still processing this, a nurse announces she has a visitor. She's hoping it'll be her father, but she isn't surprised when Katie walks into the room instead. "I brought you a change of clothes," Her friend states. "And your purse. You left it in the infirmary."

Sara's grateful for a friend like Katie, but at the same time, she's feeling utterly humiliated and isn't sure what to say. Though the situation hardly calls for it, she laughs a bit. "I'm in a lot of trouble, I think."

"I, uh, I need to apologize to you," Katie begins, glancing down at the floor in just as much embarrassment as Sara is feeling. Sara's sure whatever it is, it isn't as bad as anything she's done. "They threatened my job if I didn't talk-"

"No," Sara shakes her head, adamant. "One thing you learn when you're walking the steps is that you never outsource a blame that belongs in your own backyard."

"Well," Katie smiles reassuringly. "You're not the first correctional officer that fell for a con, trust me."

She laughs and Sara laughs too and although it is hard to admit, she knows Katie's right. It was an act; each and every smile, laugh, clever comment and smooth action had been as precise and planned out as the rest of his breakout. He hadn't meant a thing he said to her ("_At first I needed to be here_") from the very start. She'd been a part of his plan, a means to an end, and nothing, not her feelings or his faux ones ("_But then I wanted to be here, with you_") were going to stand in the way of that. In the end, his justification had been what had hurt her the most ("_And it's killing me to know you'll never believe that_."). But how could she? How could she believe anything he says if everything he's ever told her has been a lie?

"He never cared," Sara sighs and it's a painful pill to swallow. "Not one bit."

* * *

"What are you thinking about?"

Sucre's question is a loaded one; what _isn't_ he thinking about, these days? He can't stop wondering how they're going to get to New Mexico on time, he can't stop worrying about getting caught every time he hears a dog bark or a twig snap in the forest, and he can't, for the life of him, stop thinking about Sara. Sucre doesn't know about the first problem and Michael knows he and Sucre share the same second problem, so he instead knows he should answer with the third. But he'd much rather have this conversation without all of the extra ears.

He keeps it simple. "Mistakes."

Sucre seems to understand. "You had to do it."

"Not like I did," Michael sighs, adding, more quietly, "I ruined her life."

And he's sure she's out there, somewhere, cursing the day she ever met him, spending her days and nights hating him with all her might. He doesn't blame her, honestly, but he wishes that could be it. He wishes she could just hate him and move on with her life, but instead, he knows she'll be charged as an accessory and he knows she'll face just as much jail time as they will, if they ever get caught. Michael can't believe he allowed himself to take another human being down like this, especially someone as extraordinary and crucial to the improvement of society as Sara. He hopes she hates him for this, because he certainly hates himself.

"Well," Sucre hesitates, searching for something to say. "There's nothing you can do about it now."

Michael's quick to disagree; a reply flying from his mouth barely before Sucre's finished speaking. "That's _not_ true."

He knows he's brought Sara down, that he's ruined her life, that she's now facing jail time when, honestly, she'd been saving a life. But, as always, he has a plan to fix things if only she wants his help. And he can't blame her if she doesn't; after all, if he was in her shoes, he's not sure he'd ever want to hear from himself again. But it's _Sara_ and Michael wants nothing more than to right all the wrongs he's caused with her over the last few weeks. He wants to rewind back to that day he kissed her for the very first time, no, to the day they first met, if only to start anew, to wipe the slates clean, to rebuild their relationship, elaborately-schemed lies forgotten.

"You fell for her," Sucre says and it's more of a statement than a question.

Michael says nothing in return, but his silence says more than his words could ever say.

* * *

She reaches for a pen and instead comes away with a paper bird, an origami crane.

_There's a plan to make all of this right_, the message inside the wing reads and is followed by a long line of dots as if her overdose had somehow taught her to read Braille.

She doesn't know what to do, say or think, so she doesn't do, say or think anything at all.

But maybe, just maybe, she hasn't seen the last of Michael Scofield, after all.


	24. Otis

Otis

The plan goes absolutely swimmingly right up until it all goes wrong. Rescuing LJ- _breaking him out_- had always been on the backburner for Michael; obviously he hadn't wanted his nephew to suffer and rot in a prison cell while he and Lincoln were free and roaming the streets, but in their current state of being two of the most wanted men in America, snatching LJ out of the legal system's confines is synonymous to signing their own death certificates. But after losing Veronica, and after all but witnessing her murder, Lincoln had been adamant that they were not going to lose anyone else.

They've got everything planned right down to the very last detail and it works perfectly; the agent keeping a tight hold on LJ's torso looks genuinely afraid of the two convicts pointing a gun so close to his face. Michael's sure they have this whole operation in the bag… right until Lincoln's drops his water gun and the plastic clangs against the floor. A certain fierceness comes over the agent's eyes as he grips LJ more forcefully and shouts about giving themselves up so LJ can walk away free. But they don't. LJ's pleas to let him go, to go on without him, are still ringing in Michael's ears and he knows Lincoln will never forgive himself for his crucial mistake.

There's commotion and confusion and they get away somehow, even though it's _so close_, but Lincoln gets shot. And Michael's not a doctor (_But Sara is_) and he doesn't know if the bullet's hit an artery (_Sara would know_), but there's a lot of blood and he needs to get Lincoln somewhere fast to get medical attention (_He can't bring him to Sara_). They're moving fast- well, Michael's moving fast. Lincoln's hobbling along beside him and groaning in pain. Hospitals are out of the question and even free clinics aren't worth risking it; Michael knows he'll have to figure something else out and _fast_.

Because he lost Sara and he lost LJ; he isn't losing Lincoln, too.

* * *

She dreams of him each night she's in the hospital and each morning, she's appalled, but not very shocked.

It was, after all, memories of Michael that had awoken her from her unconscious state; why shouldn't he be there in her subconscious, too? She's trying so desperately hard not to think of him and to focus only on her own situation, simply because she's had enough distractions for her sake. But no matter how much she tries to block him out and tell herself over and over again how angry she is at him, there he is, every night without fail, reminding her through sleep of their many good times, fact or fiction.

Each morning she awakens and is filled with a hollow, empty feeling of melancholy and loneliness. Her father hasn't visited; she'd received a terse message from Bruce Bennett, his assistant, but nothing from Frank himself. The police are at her bedside daily to try and milk everything they can out of her while she's still bedridden and she knows they're jumping at the chance to give her a silver bracelet ride downtown. It's painful to admit that she really is alone in this; Michael is probably halfway to Mexico by now and not thinking of her at all. She has no one left and she _hates_ herself for thinking of him, because she knows she probably hasn't even crossed his mind.

But Michael? He has a permanent residence in hers, because no matter how hard she tries to evict him, every night he takes her back to the covetous moments they'd shared and Sara allows him to renew his lease.


	25. Scan

Scan

It seems like the perfect plan; fake your death and you'll have all the time in the world to continue towards that final destination, that guaranteed means to an end. Michael knows this FBI agent who's after them isn't incompetent; sooner or later, he'd figure out that he and Lincoln aren't actually dead and are still out there, somewhere. But for the purposes of now, they're going to crash their car, blow themselves up and keep moving. And it works, too. Except that it doesn't.

Michael doesn't breathe the entire thirty or forty seconds it takes for Lincoln to climb into the car and manually detonate the explosion. One station change is not long enough to get out of the car let alone to get a safe enough distance away to not be affected by the explosion. He watches as Lincoln gingerly presses the button and then climbs and sprints as though his life depends on it. And it does. Somehow, he manages to escape the flames and the car bursts into a pile of flaming metal and rubbish. They don't wait around to see it burn; they're on the move just as the sirens grow closer.

The tab he's running up on favors he's asking of Nika is getting out of control and Michael's not sure he'll ever be able to repay her for everything she's done, but somehow and for some reason, she hasn't given up on them. They have transportation, now, and they can finally, _finally_ put their escape plan into motion. Just as they're ready to take off, Nika asks the one question he'd been hoping she wouldn't: "Are you meeting up with her? The doctor?" And Michael's left speechless for a moment, because he hadn't know his plan had been so transparent. He looks to Lincoln for his reaction, which is one of amusement and wonder himself, before telling Nika the truth.

He hopes so and he wishes he could say yes, but he honestly doesn't know. There's nothing he wants more than to have Sara with him, at this point; he's gotten Lincoln out of prison and saved his life, but now he needs to make up for the lives he's ruined and the damage he's caused. He's sure he can fix things; he knows he wants to _try_. But he won't blame Sara if she doesn't take him up on it. He's not sure he would, if he was in her shoes. The truth is, he thinks about her constantly and hopes that, wherever she is, she's safe and out of harm's way.

But he wants her by his side because a part of him knows, just _knows_, that she is in danger.

* * *

On the day she gets discharged from the hospital, Sara rolls the dice, hopes for a cab and gets stuck with a 'go directly to jail' card instead. She does not pass 'Go'; she does not collect two hundred dollars. Instead she waits thirteen hours for her father to pay her bail and has an uneasy reunion with the only family member she has left. Instead of asking if she's alright and instead of waiting to listen for her side of the story, Frank Tancredi decides to reprimand her and dictate exactly how she's supposed to behave. His tone is humiliating and too-little-too-late; she half expects him to tell her to go to her room, that she's grounded, as if she was a teenager again getting scolded for staying out past curfew with all of her friends.

He informs her she will be invited to but not attend his inauguration as the vice president of the United States and Sara's not sure why it hurt her feelings; she'd been expecting as much, since she has embarrassed him ever since she was a child. She'd been thrown unwillingly into every extracurricular imaginable- piano, tennis, equestrian- and she'd rebelled the second she realized she had a mind of her own. Her father's hated her for it ever since. She does, however, take his advice about attending daily rehabilitation treatment. She goes to AA meetings everyday with her head held high and tries to forget that this isn't her first time.

Sara doesn't recognize any of the faces, which is both good- for them- and bad- for her. There is an inspirational speech to begin and some guest speakers and they talk about their pasts and quote the book, the AA bible. Sara's been through this song and dance before, but each time, it's just as uplifting as the last. It's in this moment that she realizes maybe she isn't alone, after all. A man enters the session late, takes a seat and fidgets nervously throughout the entire meeting. The sponsor suggests they go around the circle again to make him feel welcome, so Sara goes through her whole painful story one more time. The apprehensive man listens to the others' stories before offering his own.

Sara doesn't really listen, but she does learn his name is Lance.


	26. First Down

First Down

One moment, he regains control. The next, he feels as though he's about to lose it all over again.

"You're as stupid as the prison doctor, you know that?" Bellick quips to Nika, who glances at Michael to gauge his reaction.

He simply shakes his head. "Ignore him."

"He conned her too," Bellick goes on. "Made her think he loved her and look what she got. An overdose and a shot at thirty years inside."

Michael freezes, glancing at Lincoln who looks just as surprised by the news. "What are you talking about?"

"Guess you haven't been reading the papers, have you, college boy?" Bellick teases grimly. "Cops found your girlfriend fish-belly white, gargling in her own puke."

A cold shudder of fear and regret runs down Michael's spine. He has to look away. Bellick has to stop talking. He's going to be sick. "Shut up."

"Eh, what do you care?" Bellick grins wickedly. "As long as she left the door open for you."

"Shut up!" Michael screams and he doesn't listen to what Bellick says next; he can't. A quick blow to the face shuts him up pretty effectively before Michael turns to go. The ceiling is spinning in slow, dizzy circles. The walls are caving in on him. He has to get out of there.

Sara. _Sara_. He hadn't known; how could he _not_ have known? He knew he'd ruined Sara's life; that was a given. But he hadn't known he'd caused her so much mental anguish that she'd turn to substance abuse to try and end her pain. His heart is throbbing with an ache he can't soothe; he wonders if she's done this before and almost instantly he realizes she probably has. It clicks; the reason she wants to improve others' lifestyles, the reason she's giving and honest and good, the reason she feels compelled to help struggling members of her community in need is because she had once been in their shoes and knows what it's like to fight unbearable demons.

Demons he'd then instigated and re-released.

God, he's an idiot; he hates himself for not seeing it sooner. How could he _not_ see it? She'd had a life of stress and anxiety and no one to turn to. It's killing him; he needs to talk to her, needs to see her, needs to _be_ with her so he can try and repair the damage he's caused. He's sure their relationship is beyond repair, but God, he cares about her _so much_ and he just wants her to see how sorry he is. He'd spend forever trying to fix things, if he could. It's just too much; he's overwhelmed with his feelings for her, with his regret and his sorrow, and so he does the one thing that could lead the authorities to his doorstep and the one thing he's been dying to do ever since he left Fox River.

He calls her.

* * *

Joking about lacing blueberry pie with crack is about the most fun Sara's had in a _long_ time. Lance is interesting, she has to admit, and she thinks, possibly, the two could bond over their mutual addictions and grow to support one another. She isn't even remotely interested in anything else; mostly because she's come to realize she, understandably, has trust issues following her recent history. They're laughing and she'll have to admit she hasn't been this happy in a while (_after Michael kissed her, to be exact, but she'd been happier then_). Her phone rings and she digs in her purse a little before she finds it. Nothing in the world could prepare her for who is on the other end.

"_Sara_._ It's me_."

Her heart gives an unwanted tug. It takes her a moment to find her voice. "What do you want?"

"_I don't have time to talk and there's every chance they're listening to this call right now_," His voice is muffled and broken, as though he's been through half of the shit she's been through. "_But there's a lot I want to say. Please don't hang up on me_."

She wants to. She knows she won't. Sara inhales slowly before telling him, "I don't… I don't want to talk to you."

It's true and it isn't, not really, but he ignores it, anyway. "_I heard about… I heard about what happened. I want you to know how sorry I am. For everything_."

And God, does he sound sorry. If he's faking this, he's doing a great job. But there's something about his tone, whispered, hushed and broken, that's telling Sara he's being completely genuine with her. He almost sounds like he's been crying and the thought of that generates a lump inside her throat. But she's angry, still so incredibly angry, that she can only bask in his sorrow for a moment before saying, "Sorry's not going to do me a whole lot of good with what I'm up against right now."

"_Listen, anyone with any ties to me and my brother is in danger now_."

"I have no ties to you and your brother anymore," Sara retorts and her anger is starting to boil over.

"_There's a way I can protect you. It's already in your possession._"

He's being cryptic as usual; it's the straw that breaks the camel's back. "What are you talking about?!"

"_It was real, Sara. You and me. It's real_."

And she's speechless, because, honestly, what is she supposed to say to that? She hears a click on the other end; he's hung up. "Michael?"

But he's gone and she's left alone with his final statement in order to ponder whether he'd meant it or not. With his track record, she can't possibly believe that he actually cares for her, that he would want to be with her, because their relationship had been built on a foundation of shaky lies and unsteady half-truths, at best.

There was something in his voice, however, that told her this time, he hadn't been lying.


	27. Map 1213

Map 1213

News breaks that mob boss John Abruzzi had been gunned down earlier that afternoon. It's shocking to both Lincoln and Michael who had never thought that Abruzzi, out of all of them, would be the first one to go. Lincoln wants to talk about Abruzzi, about the others and their failed plan of faking their death. He wants to forget Utah and keep driving to pick up LJ. He wants to do _something_. Michael is growing more and more agitated with his brother for not understanding why he planned things the way he did. He loves LJ, too; he'd go straight to him if that were possible. But it isn't and as much as he loves Lincoln, he wishes he'd get that through his head.

Truth be told, Michael's still incredibly on edge over finding out about Sara. Talking with her hadn't brought him peace like he'd hoped and expected; instead, it only proved, still, that she was so far away from him and distance, in their case, is dangerous. She'd been angry, as expected, and he's not sure if she'll follow his plan and meet up with them. He's not even sure she'll crack the code in time. But he hopes for her sake and theirs that she will and that's what he's clinging to. After all, he's a man of faith. And learning of her overdose, of her impending jail time, of what he'd _caused_ has only made him want to get to Utah faster in order to stop all of this from imploding.

The sooner he gets the money, the sooner he gets to New Mexico.

The sooner he gets to Sara.

* * *

A second origami crane is waiting for her when she arrives home the next day and Sara knows it's significant; she knows this must be what Michael meant when told her his protection is already in her possession, but she can't for the life of her figure out how a phone number and a bunch of dots are going to be her saving grace. The theme of the AA meeting that day is forgiveness and isn't that just a damn coincidence? Sara brings the crane with her, running her fingers over its paper wings and expertly folded creases; her miniature paper security blanket. She doesn't know what it's for. She doesn't know what to do with it.

That evening, she has dinner with Lance and it's nice, at first, but she can tell he's holding something back and so she confronts the elephant in the room. He does, in fact, know who she is; he says he doesn't judge, but Sara's not letting her guard down any further. At that exact moment, who should knock upon her door but her own father and it's perfect timing, really, because she's been dying to apologize for her foolish behavior. He insists she shouldn't, that she doesn't have to, but she does, she really does. She can't imagine being in politics, in the public's eye everyday, and having a daughter like her. She's embarrassed and terrified and when the tears start, she doesn't try to stop them. Her father embraces her and there she is, the scared little girl hiding in daddy's arms.

Sara knows her father is dying for an explanation as to why she did what she did. She knows he won't believe her if she tells him what she's been telling herself:

_Lincoln Burrows is innocent and Michael Scofield cares about you even though you think he doesn't._

She knows the first part's true. She only hopes the second part is, too.


	28. Subdivision

Subdivision

Westmoreland's stash is hidden beneath the garage of a well-constructed establishment; a thick cement slab stands between them and five million dollars, easily the greatest difficulty they've faced so far. It only increases ten-fold when Michael realizes it isn't just Lincoln and T-Bag he's working with, but Tweener, C-Note and Sucre as well. He knows the only fair thing to do would be to split the money (except with T-Bag; that sociopath isn't getting a _cent_), but Michael hadn't planned on that. This is the money he and Lincoln have to live off of the rest of their lives; he can't be dishing it out to certain people. It doesn't take long to hatch an idea.

Before any of this can come to be, however, there's commotion upstairs and Michael goes to investigate, finding T-Bag lurking upstairs with that evil glare in his eye. Jeanette insists it's their time to go and they can't talk her out of it; they return to the garage in enough time to learn there is cop heading up the driveway and they're all in deep shit. How convenient would it be for the authorities to find the remaining members of the Fox River eight, sans Tweener and Haywire, all in the exact same location? There's panic and the clanging of tools and mounds of dirt being pushed back into the hole; there doesn't seem to be an easy way out of this.

They're going to have to resort to brute force. It's just another thing on Michael's list that he'll have to make up for, later.

The list is getting so incredibly long; sooner or later he'll be tripping over it.

* * *

She's just as perplexed by the third origami crane as she is by the first two. This one's yellow, the second had been blue, the first had been white and all of them had a series of numbers that, when dialed on a phone, led to the operator telling her the numbers had been out of service for years. She's sure Michael knows this; if there's anything she's learned so far, it's that he plans absolutely everything. Sara assumes these cranes and their secret messages mean _something_, but for the life of her, she cannot figure it out. She wonders if whatever they lead to had happened already; maybe she missed out on whatever Michael had planned for her and trying to decode his message is irrelevant now. She hopes this isn't the case; she'd really like to see him face to face to give him a piece of her mind.

Among other things, but let's not go there.

A day full of meeting with her defense attorneys has Sara completely drained and she spends the early evening mindlessly navigating through the aisles of the supermarket when her father calls. His voice is frantic and hurried, as though he's got something extremely important to convey and not a lot of time to convey it. He's desperately trying to convince her that Lance is not who he says he is and before he can tell her anything to substantiate it, he warns her to stay away from him. Sara turns and comes face to face with Lance, who is grinning helplessly back at her, and her heart begins to beat a bit faster. Not out of excitement or anticipation, however; this time, it's out of genuine fear.

Her father has told her that a lot of the men she's hung out with in the past have been bad news and she usually ignores his judgment.

But for some reason, this time, she can't help but believe him.


	29. Buried

Buried

They end up binding the two women to a chair and Sucre comes in to tell the others that the cop is pregnant and they're all going to go to hell for this, probably. But they can't focus too long on their captives, because there is digging to be done and cash to be found so they can be on their way. Lincoln asks what's become of Tweener, since he went out to get gas and supplies about an hour ago and hasn't been heard from since. Michael's sure he's been apprehended which doesn't help the matter; he's a snitch and always has been, so this only means they have to dig faster and deeper to get to their final destination.

In a cloud of dirt and concrete dust, they find a heavy-duty camping backpack filled with the five million dollars. There's celebration and excitement for just a moment before Sucre reenters the room, gun pointed at all of them, eyes wild with anger. C-Note and T-Bag are confused a moment before dropping the cash they'd recently obtained and replacing it in the backpack. Sucre says something about how they're all awful people and he's going to make sure the money gets into the right hands, or something along the lines. They aren't really listening. At gunpoint, he grabs the backpack and takes off through the garage, out of sight.

No one notices the millisecond wink he shoots Michael. Their plan had paid off.

* * *

Her father loses the vice presidential nomination and Lance is not one of the good guys after all and it's all very overwhelming, really. Sara needs to talk to her father in person. She pulls up to the house and security sends her to the study. The corridors are just as long and hollow and depressingly empty as they've always been; cold and unwelcoming to reflect the political mentality. She knocks twice and when there's no reply, Sara slides the door open and finds her father a few feet away. But he doesn't respond when she enters the room and he's awkwardly hoisted against the door- oh no.

She races to his side, screams for help and cuts him loose. His body falls limp against her and she struggles under his weight a little before gently lying him on the ground. Eyes open in shock, Frank is lifeless and Sara can't detect a pulse. She begins CPR and doesn't cease even after the paramedics have arrived on the scene and gently tell her it's no use. Her father is dead and it's the last thing she had ever expected, especially now, at the height of his career. He had been such a prominent figure, not only in her life but in the lives of all the civilians in Illinois. The EMTs zip him into a body bag and Sara breaks down in tears. He's the last person she'd had left; she's officially alone.

In her heart of hearts, she knows this was no suicide. Frank Tancredi had been many things, but suicidal had never been one of them. The security guard gives her a curt nod, not even remotely broken up by her father's passing, and she knows he had something to do with this. She gathers her purse from the floor and only then finds a small gold key resting beside it. It's stranger than any other key she's ever seen before; the head is square with an insignia of a crown, the body straight and narrow, not tapering off like regular house keys. She does vaguely remember something clanging to the floor as she'd cut her father loose earlier; she'd just assumed it had been some spare change or something. She pockets the key, because if it had been important to her father, maybe it could be of some use to her.

A fourth origami crane has arrived in the mail that afternoon, but Sara's too upset to care. She can't be bothered, now, by another set of numbers that lead her nowhere. Instead, she places the mail on an end table to return to later and rounds the corner into her living room. But it isn't at all how she'd left it; there are candles burning, clothes on the couch, used tissues and cotton balls on the coffee table. There are medical tape, scissors and tweezers; alcohol, broken glass and a lighter. And of course, the true winner- a bottle of morphine, calling menacingly from the corner of the table. Everything is set up the way it had been weeks earlier when she'd overdosed. Sara is confused and then frightened; a pair of footsteps sounds from down the hall. Someone had been in her apartment; someone _is_ in her apartment.

They'd killed her father and now, they are coming to kill her.


	30. Dead Fall

Dead Fall

She's going to die, she's sure of it. This man is offering her two options- either she can do it herself with the grade-A morphine he's supplied her or she can make things difficult; he whips out a gun. Sara's literally backed into a corner and she has no idea what to do. Adrenaline is coursing through her veins and her heart is palpitating beyond belief. She grabs the first thing she feels from the counter behind her- bug spray, it turns out to be- and unloads half the can into the man's eyes. He shrieks, drops the gun and clutches at his burning eyes and Sara takes this as her opportunity to smash the can into his face, taking pride in watching his body collapse to the floor. She yanks open the kitchen window and jumps onto the fire escape. She's getting the _hell_ out of here and fast.

Taking the stairs of the fire escape three at a time, Sara propels herself into the alley and down the street to the nearest payphone. She has no idea who to call; she'd love to call her father, but thanks to the man in her apartment, or at least the people he works for, that is no longer possible. She'd love to call Michael, too, and ask him for advice, but she has no idea how to reach him. She's terrified, so she calls the next person she can think of- Bruce Bennett. He calms her down, a little anyway, and tells her he's sending a car to pick her up. She's never been more grateful to have Bruce around in her life.

Less than ten minutes later, she takes everything back. A young woman steps up to use the payphone. A black SUV idles for a moment by the curb. Two shots are fired and the woman's blood paints the glass of the payphone booth all right before Sara's eyes. She kneels down to help, but it's too late; Kelli is dead in minutes. It isn't until after Sara's taken a good, long look at Kelli's ID that she realizes whoever it was in that van had thought Kelli had been her. It should've been her, dead on the pavement, instead of this innocent woman who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She retreats, again, to the alley and crouches to a sitting position. She's shaking with fear; every little noise makes her jump, her breathing is coming fast and shallow and she can't seem to get the day's events out of her head. Sara desperately wants to get in touch with Michael; if anything, she knows he'd know exactly what to do in this situation and he may even be able to get her out of it. Reaching into her purse, she finds the three cranes and studies all of them, hoping for some sign, some sort of secret signal she hadn't seen before. Bruce calls then and Sara has the shocking realization it had been him who had sent the hit men. There is no one she can trust any longer.

Perhaps she's paranoid. Perhaps Bruce hadn't done anything but what he'd said he would. But Sara cannot trust anyone anymore. She yanks out her cell phone's battery and SIM card and chucks both against the far wall, satisfaction granted as they smash against the concrete. And that is when she finally sees it; the numbers on her cell phone, the numbers Michael's sent her, they all correspond to a letter. He's spelling out a coded message that, if she figures it out in time, may just lead her right to him. Fishing through her purse for a pen, she begins to try and solve the message, number by number, letter by letter, crane by crane.

"What are you trying to tell me, Michael?" Sara speaks aloud, though no one will hear her, crouched in an alley by herself. It's a painstakingly slow process; each number has three to four letters associated, therefore creating hundreds of options and she isn't sure which one is the correct one. At least, not at first.

When it finally clicks, when she finally figures it out, the message reads, "_Rendezvous, Sundown/Hot_." It doesn't mean anything, at least not to her, and if it's supposed to, the meaning isn't clear. She's confused and irritated and frustrated… but that's when she realizes she's left her daily mail on the end table when she escaped the murderer in her apartment. Her daily mail that included junky advertisements, a few bills, and…

"There's one more bird," Sara realizes and collapses against the concrete wall, spent and exhausted and feeling as though she's utterly failed.

If that final bird has the location of this supposed rendezvous, Sara's not sure she'll ever meet up with Michael, because there is no way in _hell_ she's returning to her apartment.

* * *

It seems like everything's gone swimmingly. Sucre has the stash of cash and Michael meets up with him in the woods to split it four ways- he insists they send a share to Westmoreland's daughter, since he hadn't made it to see her in time. But as they open the backpack, they find it's full of atlases and tour books and realize they've been duped. A glance back at the chain of events and they figure it's T-Bag who had actually absconded with the cash, much to their chagrin. This pisses the both of them off, but when they hear sirens and dogs on their heels, they can't dwell too long upon it.

They have to cross a rushing river and somehow in the rush and commotion, Sucre gets trapped beneath a tree trunk. He's really in there; he and Michael try everything they can to try and free him to no avail. When it looks as though he isn't making it out of this alive, as the tide flows in, Sucre begins to tell Michael to leave him behind, that he's already served his purpose in his friend's life and that he's okay with ending his sorrows now. Michael does not want to hear it. He refuses to allow anyone to die, not on his watch. In some stroke of luck, he manages to free Sucre but ruin his cousin's bike in the process. Surely, he'll understand.

They take off, missing the authorities by inches, and make it to a car dealership. Sucre heads out alone, in search of Maricruz, and Michael watches him go. First Lincoln, now Sucre… a pang of loneliness hits him, then, but it shakes it off.

It's June first. If Sara's decoded his message and against all odds decided to meet up with him, he won't be lonely much longer.


	31. Unearthed

Unearthed

He has one more stop before meeting with Sara (again, _he hopes_) in New Mexico the following morning. For some reason unbeknownst to him, this FBI agent in charge of the manhunt, Alexander Mahone, seems to know his every move before Michael even makes it. He seems to be wherever the escapees are at every turn and usually has authorities waiting for them wherever they end up. That day, Michael does as much research on Alex Mahone as possible before heading to his place of residence, posing as an FBI agent himself and being allowed entrance into the home and mind of Mahone by his very own ex-wife.

Pam tells Michael everything he'll ever need to know about Alex. He'd first begun a career to capture the bad guys, to save the world, to make the world a better place for his son to grow up in. But over time, he'd grown cold and distant and left Pam and their son behind without so much as an explanation. Michael's sure Pam has no idea about Alex's drug addiction or the body that's buried in their very backyard. It's all he needs as leverage and he leaves as quickly as he's arrived.

He calls Alex to tell him of the news and doesn't balk when he lets on that he knows about Michael's rendezvous.

Michael isn't threatened. He'd expected this, after all.

* * *

_Rendezvous, Sundown Hot. Rendezvous Sundown, Hot. Rendezvous. Sundown. Hot_.

It still doesn't make any sense no matter how much emphasis Sara puts on it. She's relocated to a motel somewhere in the outskirts of Chicago, hopefully where no one will find her, and she's trying every angle to figure out what Michael's message is supposed to read, but she's coming up with nothing. She turns it upside down, sideways, reads it backwards and forwards and still, nothing. Nothing, that is, until she puts the message next to the bag that's previously held her dinner. _Hot-el_. _Hotel._ _Rendezvous, Sundown Hotel_. It's a victory like none other and Sara immediately calls the front desk for information.

She grabs the phone book and flips to the back cover, studying the map of the United States as the concierge informs her there is one in Pierre, South Dakota. Too far north, Sara assumes, and crosses it off the list. There is another one in Sutton, West Virginia, he says next, and it's closer south than the other one, so Sara leaves it open. But the final Sundown Hotel is in Gila, New Mexico; Sara draws a thick line from Gila, New Mexico down into Mexico and assumes, correctly, this must be the one Michael is talking about. She circles it once, twice, three times before deciding this is it.

Sara tears out the map and gathers her things. She's going to New Mexico.


	32. Rendezvous

Rendezvous

_One hour. 16781 Butterfield Road._

The message is shoved under her door and Sara can't fathom how, in just a short sixty minutes, she will once again come face to face with Michael Scofield. She hasn't spoken to him since he'd called her a week or so earlier and so, so much had happened since then. She's terrified and confused and angry, but she's anxious to see him, because she's weak, really. No matter how angry she is with him, she can't ignore her feelings for him. And if he's planned this elaborate scheme to make things right and it somehow involves her, he's sure he's got to feel _something_, too.

16781 Butterfield Road is an empty mailbox. There's an old chimney that must've been part of a house way back when, but the house is long gone. The dirt road turns up when she drives her car beside the mailbox, parking it and checking all around for a sign or her next clue. But there's nothing. Instead, the sound of gravel crinkling and giving way beneath tires is her sign that someone is coming. She gets back in her own car, just in case. But moments later, a white car pulls up behind her own and none other than Michael Scofield exits the vehicle. He still looks great even after weeks on the run and Sara hates him for it; she's been on the run two days and is sure she looks like an emotional wreck. Mostly because she is one.

"Hello Sara," He breathes and she nods in response. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

Sara shrugs. "I didn't have a choice."

"This isn't going to be easy for you," Michael tells her honestly and Sara has no idea what he's talking about. She just needs to know what this glorious plan is.

"You said in your message you had a plan to make this right," Sara demands. "I need to know what that is."

"I've arranged for us to get to Panama," Michael explains. "We're meeting up with my brother tomorrow."

"Wait, that's your plan? To run away to Panama with the two most wanted men in America?" Sara inquires in disbelief. "Michael, I came here because I thought you were going to have _real_ answers for me."

"This is an answer," He insists adamantly and she scoffs. "And right now it's the only one we've got."

"Running away into the sunset with the man who lied to me?" Her anger's returning. She greets it like an old friend. "Really? I mean, did you know about the other guys? Did you know that I would be putting _T-Bag_ back out on the street?!"

"I never meant for that to happen," Michael tells her and he looks as though he's telling the truth, but she can't be certain, not anymore. "I was doing what I needed to do. My brother was going to die."

"Now my father's dead," Sara says and it still kills her to admit this out loud.

He turns away from her and seems as though he's just as broken up about this as she is. Sara doubts this is possible. When he faces her again, his face is broken and full of sorrow and regret. "I am sorry about your father. I'm sorry for a lot of things; for what I did to you. I have many, many regrets… But that's the biggest."

Michael's words are certainly genuine but she's still so bitter, so angry. "That doesn't help me right now."

"I'm sorry for that too," He tells her with a sigh. "I didn't expect you to forgive me, but I don't want you to be alone in this."

It's the first attempt anyone's made (unless she counts Bruce, which she doesn't, since he sent a hit man to murder her) to make sure she's alright, to include her in their lives, to be sure she didn't drift into a lonely life of despair. And she wants to yell at him a little, to punish him for what he did to her, but another part of her just wants to hug him, because after everything she's been through these past few days, after cracking his code and living in an alley and nearly escaping death not once but twice, Sara could use one.

She doesn't hug him. Instead, she steps a little closer and tells him the truth, "I don't want to be alone."

And he must sense the changing air between them, because he steps forward too and without waiting for another signal, he engulfs her in a hug. She's a bit shocked at first and doesn't react; this is, after all, the most physical contact they'd ever had (if you exclude, of course, that time they kissed in the infirmary). After a moment, however, she gives in; snaking her arms around his neck, she hugs back and it allows him to pull her closer, to tell her he promises to make things right, and she wants so, so badly to believe him.

She just doesn't know if she can.

* * *

His tender moment with Sara doesn't last long; in the distance, they see a speeding car coming straight for them and Michael just knows it's Mahone. They climb into Michael's car and speed in the same direction, coming so close to a collision Michael is sure he's scared Sara half to death. But they crash, instead, into an abandoned warehouse and sprint throughout in order to evade the rogue FBI agent. He directs Mahone away from Sara, who is then able to return with transportation, and locks Mahone in a cage pretty effectively, he likes to think. And then, they're off.

He's cut his arm pretty badly, so they stop off at a drug store in order to buy supplies to clean it with. They don't return to the Sundown Hotel; instead they check into a motel just out of Gila and Sara orders him to sit so she can dress his wound. It's just like old times; he's injured himself doing something mundane and she's always there to fix it for him. He'd make a comment on how they were reliving the past, how this is such déjà vu, but he's sure she'd rather not bring up their rocky start. Michael's choosing his words carefully, but she _had_ met up with him after all, so surely that meant something?

He tells her he has a high tolerance for pain when she begins to pour the peroxide. She asks, "And you're not a diabetic, are you?"

Michael doesn't answer. Sara shakes her head. "Michael, tell me something. Do you think there's a part of you that enjoys this?"

He tries a joke. "Peroxide in an open wound? No."

It works; she smiles just a bit. "I mean escaping from prison and being on the run and the danger and the fear and the rush and all that. It feels to me like chasing a high and I know what that's like and… I should know better, by now."

"I never thought about it like that," Michael says quietly. "I know you've heard this before, but it won't always be like this."

"From everything you've told me, it's just getting worse."

"They can't chase us forever," Michael insists. "The guy who chased us today, he stops at the border. That's why we have to get across. I have the people in place to help us do that; we're meeting them tomorrow."

She's silent. He catches her hand as she goes to remove it from the bandage, just as he had in Fox River all those weeks ago. "One more day, Sara. That's all I'm asking. One more day."

"And then what?" Sara wonders, challenging him. "What happens when we get over the border? We go back to living our lives? Panama is not Chicago, Michael. We can't just go back to normal."

"There'll be an adjustment period," Michael explains and Sara eyes him strangely. "But we'll only have to stay until the statute of limitations wears out."

"And there aren't any extradition laws, or anything?" She asks. "Because we could very well meet Panamanian police the second we cross over."

"I did my research," Michael smiles. "Trust me."

She glances away, but hasn't removed her hand from his grasp. He says, "We'll get a house on the beach, couple of hammocks. Linc and I are going to open a scuba shop. It's going to be great."

"You're not a diabetic," Sara repeats and ignores his previous statement. "What else did you lie to me about? What else don't I know about you? Forgive me, but I do not want to sail off into the sunset with a perfect stranger."

"I don't blame you," Michael sighs. "And there will be time to explain everything later. If you want, I'll relay to you the entire escape plan. But it's too much to get into now. We don't have much time."

"Tell me something now," Sara insists and Michael nods.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you know where to go?" She wonders. "During the riot, during the breakout… You knew you needed to leave from the infirmary and you knew exactly how to get there. _How_ did you know?"

"One of the partners in my firm had the blueprints to the penitentiary," Michael explains. "I had them drawn up and hidden in my tattoo."

Sara stares at him. "You can't be serious."

He unbuttons his shirt and begins to direct her on a tour through the prison. "Right here, that's the hallway behind A-Wing. Over here is extensive piping system behind our cellblock. And on my back, where the burn was, is the route from the guard's break room to the infirmary; our escape route."

"But the burn," Sara asks. "It ruined layers of your skin. How did you remember where to go?"

Michael hesitates. "I didn't. I had to call in some… reinforcements."

To her confused look, he then explains the entire story about Haywire and the fake psychotic break and his brief stay in the psych ward. Her face is unreadable, but when he's finished, he can tell she's heard enough, at least for right now. She motions towards his injured arm and says, "Go get cleaned up. Keep this dry."

He nods and crosses the small room towards the bathroom. But he turns back and calls, "Sara?"

When she glances up, he smiles at her. "I'm glad you came."

Sara's gone by the time he's out of the shower. He's utterly disappointed, but unsurprised; he didn't deserve forgiveness, anyway.

* * *

She can't stay. She _wants_ to stay, but she can't. She knows better, or at least she's telling herself she does. Sara couldn't have waited to tell him in person, because she knows Michael and she knows he can talk his way out of everything and she knows he would be able to talk her into staying. And part of her wants that; part of her _wants_ him to make her stay. The other part knows she shouldn't. She can't get herself involved in this, especially when she's already in _so much trouble_ with the law. She's jumped bail, now, on top of everything else. Does she really need to be hanging around with two members of the Fox River eight as well?

No, she doesn't need to, but she _wants_ to. Sara turns off the ignition as her eyes fill with tears. She can't leave Michael like this; it's cowardly. She cares about him too much to just walk out without so much as a goodbye. But she knows if she returns she won't leave at all; maybe that's a good thing. She's safer with him than she is alone, she's sure. And what did she think she was going to do by leaving, anyway? Head to the nearest police station, turn herself in and rot in prison for thirty years? No thank you; a hammock on the beach in Panama (_with Michael, no less_) sounds much more appealing. She opens the car door and prepares to head back to their motel room. She'll explain everything to Michael and they'll be okay.

Or… she won't. Because when she turns around, Lance is there and he's holding a gun to her face and there's no way this situation is going to end well.


	33. Bolshoi Booze

**Good morning! We're halfway through season 2 already, can you believe it?! Thank you so incredibly much for reading and double thanks for reviewing! It means so, so much to me! I hope you've been enjoying so far and hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks again!**

* * *

Bolshoi Booze

Michael is angry with himself and disappointed and feels just as empty and broken as he had, if not more so, before he'd met with Sara. He can't say he blames her for leaving; it had all been his fault, anyway. If he hadn't been such a lying jackass in the first place, perhaps he could've convinced her to come with him after all. Of course, he realizes, if he _hadn't_ lied to her, he wouldn't be where is now and Lincoln would be dead and buried by now. He regrets lying to her, sure, but he doesn't regret saving his brother's life. He regrets the action, but he does not regret the outcome.

He had thought he'd gotten through to her, but alas, he had not; instead, Michael must continue on with his plan in order to leave the country. But he's filled with an enormous amount of guilt and pain, overwhelmed even, so when he sees the shiny church steeple in the distance, Michael doesn't hesitate to enter and clear his conscience. It eases his mind a little, just as much as he needs in order to continue on, but the feelings are still there, nagging away at his senses. He is forced to ignore them, at least for now anyway, as he makes his way to the meeting point in the middle of New Mexican desert- Bolshoi Booze.

There is confusion among the drug runners and yes, Michael is trying to pull a fast one over on them, and they hold him at gunpoint, ready to fire. But it's Sucre to the rescue when moments later, his ex-cellmate arrives on the scene, saving his friend from a sure death and speaking of escape in the process. When Lincoln arrives, Michael's spirits lift a little (he'd feel even better if Sara was here, honestly, because he's once again worried sick about her) before dampening the moment Lincoln announces he's brought someone along- their father. He isn't as long-lost as Lincoln would like to believe.

Michael feels as though he's going to be sick; horrifying childhood memories rush back to him in an instant the moment he meets his father's eyes. "We've met before."

* * *

"So, as you can see, hi, my name is _not_ Lance," Not-Lance grins wickedly. "And I am _not_ an addict."

Sara's doing everything she can to remain calm, but this man is, as her father correctly assumed, _not_ who he said he was and he's waving a gun in her face and has her duct-taped to a chair. He's talking about being reasonable and asking for whatever it is that her father gave her; Sara's mind immediately flashes to the key, but there's no way she's giving it to him. Besides, what could possibly be _so important_ about this key that it's worth threatening someone's life over? She tells him she has no idea what he's talking about because it's half true and then he mentions a second step she doesn't want to experience and goes to fill the bathtub.

He's dragging her into the bathroom, then, and threatening her with a shallow pool of icy cold water, dumping the contents of her purse onto the counter and continuing to ask where this mysterious item is. She continues to deny him; Sara suspects he doesn't appreciate her attitude ("_Do you think I'm withholding information because I like hanging out with you?!_"), because a few moments later, Not-Lance is grabbing the back of her head and smashing it below the surface of the water, holding her down, watching her struggle. Water fills her nostrils and mouth and just as she feels like she's drowning, he pulls her upright again.

She's shivering and shaking and still adamantly insisting she has nothing and knows nothing. Sara can tell this man is growing incredibly irritated with her, but if he thinks she's going to give in, he's got another thing coming. And so does she; moments later, he plugs in an iron, yanks at the extension cord and tells her the fact that she thinks Michael and Lincoln care about her is "sad, but cute." Sara braces herself and when the electricity courses through her body in painful jolts, she does her best not to let it show just how badly it hurts. She feels as though her insides are being set on fire, as though she's being cooked from the inside out, as though she's been struck by lightning over and over and over again.

He takes a phone call and whoever it was must've restored his angry energy, because he comes back ready to kill her in an instant. "This is happening right now, do you understand me? Don't make me do this."

"Even if I knew," Sara manages to say, her body still twitching and shivering from the electric shock. "I wouldn't tell you."

"You wouldn't? Really? Are you that stupid?" Not-Lance shouts, getting right in her face. "Are you _that_ stupid? Because now you're going to die! You're going to die and all you had to do was tell me what your father gave you."

"I know my options," Sara shivers. "I can tell you and die or I can not tell you and _still_ die."

He disagrees with her logic and tells her to smarten up, for once in her life.

Sara tells him to go to hell.

He grabs her by the neck, hangs her over the lip of the tub. "Drowning is horrific, don't get me wrong, but once you give in and just let the water come into your lungs, there's a certain… euphoria, I hear."

She tries not to let her fear show; if she's going to die, she's going to die with dignity. He continues, "I guess, as a junkie, I thought maybe you'd appreciate that."

And then he lets go. She hits the water with a splash and begins to suffocate as his final words repeat themselves over and over and over again.

_You did this to yourself._


	34. Disconnect

Disconnect

A dirty bathtub in a rundown motel in New Mexico will be her watery grave. Sara can hear vague sounds from the other room, but all else is quiet. The wavy water is closing in on her and things around her are growing darker and darker as more and more water begins to fill her lungs. She does everything she can to hold her breath, but it's been over a minute and she's beginning to lose control. Just then a twinkling light catches her eye; the sunlight has caught the gold chain of the drain plug and Sara curses her stupidity for not thinking of this sooner. Struggling against her restraints, she somehow manages to get her teeth around the chain and yanks, watching satisfactorily as the remaining water sloshes through the drain and leaves her behind.

She's racing against the clock, now, as she tears at the wet tape that comes away in pieces in her hands. Just as she's freed herself, she hears Not-Lance cross the room and open the door, utterly shocked to find her up and moving and not floating lifelessly in the bathtub. He makes a move towards her but she grabs the still-hot iron and presses it flush against his chest. The noise he emits isn't even remotely human and she'd feel bad, but then again, _he_ isn't human, not really. He falls to floor in pain and she makes a move for the door, but he grabs her ankle weakly and she realizes she won't be leaving that way. Instead, she grabs her things, pushes out the screen in the window, and leaps for her life.

It's the most painful thing she's experienced in a long time but she doesn't have too much time to dwell upon it. She climbs painfully off of the car's hood and grabs her purse, running as fast as she can through the parking lot, down the street and into a nearby convenience store. Ignoring the looks she's attracting, Sara purchases some disinfectant, a sewing kit and a box of matches; going to a hospital is of course out of the question, so she'll have to stitch her own wounds. It's no easy feat; when she's finished, she searches her purse for any kind of painkiller she can find and, instead, finds, miraculously, her cell phone, which still somehow works despite everything that's happened.

She has to get out of here. She has to stay away from Not-Lance and everyone he works for. She has to figure out why this key is so important.

And above all else, she has to- no, she _needs _to- get to Michael.

* * *

It's not exactly the family reunion Aldo Burrows had been hoping for, Michael can tell. He'd been sure his father had been the abusive drunk his mother had always told them and to be fed a different story, one that not only happens to be the truth, but explains why Lincoln had been framed in the first place does not exactly go over well with Michael. But before they can catch up, before Aldo can apologize and make up for not being in his sons' lives, before he can even inform his sons how to take The Company down, Alex Mahone is firing shots from a cliff face and Aldo's body claims one instantly.

Sucre's driving wildly and Lincoln's yelling that Aldo'll be okay, but it's a clean shot through the chest and there aren't any hospitals out here and damn it, he doesn't have much time left. Michael is helpless to do anything but watch his father die and it just isn't fair; his father had just reentered his life, he shouldn't have to lose him so suddenly. Aldo begins to say his farewells, apologizing for leaving them when they were so young and telling them he'd wished he never left. Sucre tries politely to ignore this private moment and Lincoln is still telling his father he'll make it, but Michael's watched people die before; he knows this is the end.

"Listen to me," Aldo says weakly. "Find Sara Tancredi. She can end this. It's up to you, now."

And Michael can't admit to his father, especially not now, that he'd already found Sara; found her and lost her, even.

He knows he's a disappointment and there's no way he can take any more guilt.


	35. The Killing Box

The Killing Box

The phone is ringing once, twice, three times before Michael hears a voice on the other end pick up. _Sara_. He can't make out what she's saying from this far away, but he can't answer, either; their car is on fire and is in danger of exploding behind them and Alex Mahone is holding them at gunpoint. But before anything can happen, the United States Border Patrol breaks up their confrontation and takes them into custody. Michael can see the frustration mounting on Alex's face as he and Lincoln are locked behind bars and is filled with a certain satisfaction. His phone lights up, buzzes with a new call, moments after they're told they cannot make one.

"Who would that be?" Lincoln asks.

Michael's heart gives tug; he aches to answer but knows he cannot. "Only one person."

He watches as the phone buzzes a while longer and then goes silent. If he ever gets to Sara, he'll explain everything; after all, he doesn't want her thinking he doesn't care, that he'd seen she was calling and decided not to answer. He can't focus on her too long- at least, not outwardly- because moments later, he and Lincoln are being transferred all the way back to Fox River. They're loaded in a van, but their shackles and handcuffs are left unchained; something is amok, something is peculiar, and they aren't sure what to do next. Lincoln is sure they should take the opportunity to run, but Michael knows the moment they do, they'll be shot down.

They don't, however, have another choice. They make a run for it and Alex and his officers shoot at them as they sprint into an adjoining tunnel. They're running for their lives and seem as though they're going to get away with it, but, as they make a wrong turn, they come face to face with a secret service agent they recognize from the television and the papers. With Mahone right behind them, they are literally boxed in; Lincoln knows this man is the same one who'd tried to murder him back in Fox River and gives the man an uneasy look as he raises his gun. A shot is fired, but it catches Mahone, not Michael or Lincoln. The brothers stare at each other in shock, then at the stranger.

"President Reynolds ruined your life? She ruined my life," The man states, breathing heavily. "You wanna take the bitch down? You just found your inside man. But it's gotta be _right now_."

They have no other choice. They go.

* * *

Sara's adamant that someone had called her cell phone the evening before and she's almost positive it had been Michael. There is really no one else who would need or want to contact her, anymore. When she'd answered the phone, the only thing she'd heard was static and distant voices lingering in the background. She'd been waiting for any signal that Michael was there, clinging to the hope that she could find him and relay what had happened to her, but the line had then been disconnected. She tries, again, this morning, and still no answer. She isn't sure what to say and isn't sure Michael will even get the message, but she has to try.

"Michael, it's me. Listen, this phone rang last night and I went to answer it, but I couldn't hear anything and I wonder if maybe it was you?" Sara begins, taking deep, slow breaths to calm her nerves. "Oh God, I don't know what I should do right now. I don't know if I should leave a message or who might be listening to this, but…"

She trails off and ducks around a corner, avoiding eye contact with everyone she passes. "I, uh… I need to know that you're okay. I need you to know that I'm not. I didn't leave you in Gila; something happened to me and I don't know what to do right now. I'm not too sure where to go, but I know you're the only person I can trust and I need you to, um…"

Sara can hear the emotion in her own voice and it's so terrifying it's almost funny. She laughs slightly, "I need you to be okay. And… And I need you. Please."

She wishes there was more she could say; she wishes she knew where Michael is so she could go to him and explain all of this in person. It isn't until later that afternoon that she finds out- Michael and Lincoln had been apprehended the evening prior and are being escorted back to Fox River at that very moment. Something inside Sara shatters; she, then, loses almost all hope that things are going to turn out alright. If they go back to prison, if Michael serves the twenty or thirty years promised and Lincoln is executed, then she truly will be left all alone with a mother lode of guilt and life of unhappiness.

Sara has to prepare herself. She buys a bottle of cheap hair dye and a thin razor and changes her identity.

If she can't have the life of anonymity Michael promised her, then she'll have to create a new one.


	36. John Doe

John Doe

There is almost no limit on what Paul Kellerman can do or produce. Michael and Lincoln are shocked by how he crosses state border lines and bypasses security, how he uses his secret service ID- though technically, at the moment, invalid- to get anything he wants and to avoid questioning and even further shocked by how he brings them face to face with a very much alive Terrence Steadman. Lincoln looks as though he is about to blow a gasket. He shouts obscenities and threats and demands to know what kind of person can just go along with a plan to ruin an innocent human being's life. Terrence is silent. He's simply got nothing to say.

When their interrogation is over and Kellerman is trying to decide what to do next, Michael finds Lincoln sulking in the bathroom, of all places. He assures him, "Kellerman will find a loophole and be able to prove he's Steadman to the public. He has to have the records somewhere."

"Whatever you say, man," Lincoln replies. "What the hell are we doing, Michael? With this guy, I mean."

"He may have the ties we need to get a presidential pardon," Michael says. "We could be exonerated."

"Sure, if he feels like giving out his prized information," Lincoln shrugs. "You know who else has information? Sara, whether she knows it or not. And something tells me she'd be a lot more willing to help than this guy."

Michael glances away. "Yeah. It's not that simple, though."

"I don't see what isn't simple about it," Lincoln retorts. "You met up with her the other day. Just get ahold of her again and-"

"You don't understand," Michael shakes his head. "I pitched the entire plan to her, the whole idea, and she left. She doesn't want any part of this. She's still mad at me."

"She doesn't seem like one to hold a grudge," Lincoln notes and only then realizes the magnitude of what his brother's just said. "Wait, you told her about Panama? And the dive shop? I thought that was our thing, man."

"Scuba shop," Michael corrects. "And we'll need someone to work the counter, won't we?"

Lincoln chuckles. "You probably freaked her out. No wonder she bailed."

"I have to talk to her," Michael sighs, running an anxious hand over his face. "I have to get to her somehow."

And just as Lincoln is about to make another comment, Michael cuts him off, his face twisting into a satisfied grin. "I've got a plan."

Lincoln smirks. "Don't you always?"

Ignoring Kellerman's remarks and threats of firing as he aims his gun at him, Michael dials the operator and says, "I'd like the number for channel 11 news, please… Yes, please connect me, I'll hold."

"Hang up the phone, _now!_" Kellerman shouts, cocking his gun at Michael's face.

This doesn't deter him. "This is Michael Scofield. I'm at the Cutback Motel, room eleven. And I want to turn myself in."

* * *

On the bright side, Sara's learned a lot from her motel-hopping habits. She's collected enough bottles of shampoo and lotion to open her own mini-mart. She can no longer tell the difference in thread count on the pathetic excuses for bed sheets. She's perfected the art of packing while simultaneously doing mundane activities like brushing her teeth or listening for authorities or possible hit men. Sara's not proud of any of this, but she's in this alone, now, and she doesn't know what else to do. She misses Michael; she wants to speak to him _badly_, but there's nothing she can do but evade authorities and try to figure out a better plan for tomorrow.

The next day, she's mindlessly flipping through channels when she comes upon Fox. They are, once again, covering the Fox River inmates escape story, but this one talks of Lincoln and Michael, so she turns up the volume and pays close attention. The reporter informs the public that on the transport back to Fox River, Lincoln and Michael had somehow made an escape and injured and FBI agent in the process. They left no trail and their whereabouts are currently unknown; as the reporter goes on to list how incredibly dangerous the two are and warns the public not to approach them if they should see them but to alert authorities immediately, Sara is filled with small glimmer of hope.

She may have a chance of getting to Michael, after all.


	37. The Message

The Message

That night, as Sara sits glued to her television screen, she watches as Fox News reports Lincoln Burrows and Michael Scofield have made a confessional tape and have leaked it to the public. They only play snippets of the tape; bits and pieces that don't really fit together, but when played separately are significantly powerful. She watches, entranced, as both Michael and Lincoln claim their innocence and declare that Terrence Steadman had not been murdered, but had instead committed suicide the evening prior in a motel. Sara cannot take her eyes off of the story. She admires the brothers for having the courage to do something like this, because she's not sure, honestly, if she'd be willing to do the same.

Hours after the news breaks, Fox News instead reports a wildfire in the everglades and an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Sara's sure The Company had created both disasters in an effort to cover the brothers' story, but even if this is true, at least it's out there, now. At least the public knows their side of the story. Sara spends the next day in the library she'd found in the corner of town, watching the full video the brothers had released in order to get the bigger picture. She's completely focused on the computer screen; she's shut out the rest of the world. And when Michael mentions her name, she has to say she's surprised. She hadn't expected it, to say the least, and the fact that Michael had tried to clear her name as well as their own is endlessly endearing.

Except- that's not all he's doing.

"_Sara, if you're listening, I know I can't ask you for another chance. I only hope by now you have found your safe haven. I took advantage of you, of your commitment to help others, and put you in a place that's every doctor's nightmare. I've considered many ways to apologize, but I must arrive at one._"

This time it doesn't take her so long to crack his code. She yanks out her AA book and flips through the chapters, replaying his message to her over and over again until she realizes what it is he's trying to convey.

St. Thomas's Hospital in Akron, Ohio- there's no way she'll get there in time.

She rushes back to the hotel in a flash; she'll have to think of something.

* * *

Terrence Steadman's body is identified as one of the motel's janitors, with the death being ruled as another homicide committed by the escaped convicts. Lincoln is getting agitated and fed up with the running; Kellerman tells them everything will be settled once they finally take the president down. Lincoln's not an idiot; he tells Kellerman nothing is going to be settled unless they get to Sara, and even that isn't a done deal. Michael watches all of this unfold are tries desperately hard to keep his composure. He's not sure Sara will show up, but he firmly believes that she will because, after all, his faith in her is the only thing that's keeping him going right now.

"It's getting late," Lincoln observes.

Michael nods. "I know."

"She isn't here."

"I know that too," Michael frowns. "There is a chance she didn't get the message."

"Or maybe she's just sick of all this," Lincoln states realistically. "I mean the girl bailed on you back in Gila. What makes you think she's going to come running back now?"

"The same thing that's been keeping us going for the last three months," Michael tells him. "Faith."

"Yeah, well," Lincoln sighs. "Reality's kicking faith's ass, man."

And just as Michael is about to give an impassionate speech about faith and destiny and everything turning out in the end, he hears a name being called over the hospital's loudspeaker. _Michael Crane_. It isn't too obvious, but it's understandable enough that Michael knows the call is for him. It could be anyone on the end of the line; he's fully expecting the authorities or a Company agent or even Alex Mahone. He draws in a deep breath and lifts the receiver to his ear. It's now or never. "This is Mr. Crane."

"_It sounded better than origami_."

Michael breathes a sigh of relief. _Sara_. She had understood the message, after all. He has a million questions for her- is she okay? Where is she? How quickly can she get to where they are? What did her father give her that is_ so_ important? But he doesn't bombard her with any of these inquiries. He says instead, "Even if you got the message I wasn't sure you'd respond."

"_I couldn't get to you in time. This is the only thing I could think of._"

"I swore I'd leave you alone," Michael admits honestly. "But I had to contact you."

"_Because I have something?_"

Her tone is only partially accusatory. Michael feels entirely guilty. "How'd you know?"

"_Michael, back in Gila, I was coming back to you. Somebody grabbed me and they, um… They told me that my father had given me something._"

Michael is instantly panicked. She hadn't left after all, at least not by her own accord. The Company must have gotten ahold of her and if that's true, he's sure they hadn't been pleasant about it. His thoughts turn to those of torture and pain and he dreads the answer to his next question. "Did someone hurt you?"

"_I-I got away._"

His heart gives a tug and he wants to probe her further, but she speaks again. "_Michael, I want for this to be over_."

"That makes two of us," Michael tells her honestly.

"_Do you think that's possible?_"

He isn't sure, honestly. He wants it to be possible, but The Company is a multinational corporation that is involved in all levels of government and industry and even though they have one of their inside men on their side, Michael's not sure if that means they'll be able to take them down. He does, however, think there is a possibility of exonerating all of them and that, ultimately, lies with whatever it is that Frank Tancredi had left his daughter. He's hoping it something that leads to information The Company doesn't know they have, something that could _prove_ his brother's innocence since no one will take his word for it, and he's assuming that's what it is, if they want it back so badly they're willing to hurt someone like Sara.

"With your help, yes," Michael finally tells her. "It's just a question of looking at whatever it is your father gave you."

"_It's just… It's just a key_."

"Well, we'll figure it out," Michael tells her sincerely, wishing he was with her more than anything. "Together."

"_I like the sound of that_."

This makes Michael smile. Perhaps she's missed him as impossibly much as he's missed her. "Me too."

In a few days, this will all be over, Michael's sure of it.

And he's also sure that he wants to be with Sara when it's all over.


	38. Chicago

**Alas, here we are. ;) Same deal as "The Key"- I really hope I did this episode justice. It's a very significant one as you all know. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chicago

Kellerman and Lincoln are calm and collected, but Michael is a ball of nervous energy, awaiting Sara's incoming train. On the outside, he's sure he looks as cool as a cucumber; on the inside, however, he's about ready to combust. The train pulls into the station slowly but surely and empties its passengers into the open air. Michael scans the crowd for Sara before spotting her a few feet away, looking just as apprehensive as he feels. She's chopped her long locks and darkened them, Michael guesses, in an attempt to go incognito. He has to hand it to her; it works much better than a hat and a pair of sunglasses.

She spots him, then, and immediately makes her way over to him like a woman on a mission. Michael opens his arms to her and she walks into him effortlessly, as if they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. His arms curl around her, relishing the opportunity to hold her close and assure himself that she's here, she's with him and she's _okay_. He wishes they had time to sit and catch up in private, but they must get down to business. She shows him the key, mentions the strange insignia, and both he and Lincoln have a look at it but fail to identify it. It's time he mentions the fourth party.

"Sara," He says gently. "We've got someone working with us now."

The look of sheer and utter panic and terror that comes over Sara's face is unlike anything he's ever seen before. He places a hand on her arm. "What's wrong?"

"That's the guy," Sara says, her voice ghostly and hollow. "That's the one that pretended to be an addict at my AA meetings. That's the one that my father warned me about. That's the one who grabbed me in Gila and electrocuted me and left me to drown in a bathtub."

Lincoln's eyes widen. Michael's blood begins to boil. "_What_ did you just say?"

"He left me to die," Sara repeats, her eyes not leaving Kellerman. "He tied me to a chair and left me to drown all because I wouldn't tell him about the key."

"Paul Kellerman tried to kill you?" Lincoln replies as if he can't quite grasp the height of the situation. He turns to his brother, "Think it's a set-up now?"

Michael doesn't respond. He stalks over to Kellerman, his brother and Sara following suit, and clutches the former secret service agent around he throat, delighting in the way he coughs and sputters and chokes. _Just as Sara had_, he thinks, _when he'd left her to drown_, and a pang of guilt and sorrow and anger courses through his veins. Kellerman struggles; Lincoln holds him back. "You didn't tell us you left her to die!"

"I was… scaring her," He manages to choke out. "I was… gonna pull… gonna pull her out!"

"No," Sara disagrees adamantly, her voice holding so much anger and fear Michael wants to do everything he can to ease it. "No, you left me there to drown!"

"I wonder how long you can hold your breath," Michael states menacingly. "Maybe we should find out."

"You need me… and you know it!" Kellerman sputters. "You need me… You need me!"

Michael wants to grip his throat tighter… but his words are true. He lets go. The look in Sara's eyes pains him; it's one of confusion and exhaustion and sorrow. "Why do we need him? We have the key. We'll figure out what it's for."

"I can tell you what that key's for right now," Kellerman states, breathing heavily. "It's to a private cigar club."

Lincoln inquires, "Where?"

"Chicago."

And so they're headed home; Kellerman hails them a private car on a train back to Chicago and it's easy enough; all Michael has to do is pretend to be a fugitive. It's a role he's good at, after all. He sends Kellerman death glares from his seat as the agent beckons for Lincoln and Sara to board the train. They do, his brother taking a front seat and Sara sitting across from him, twisting the cord of her sweatshirt around her finger. She's visibly agitated and Michael's heart breaks for her; he wants to tell her they're going to dump Kellerman as soon as they can, but he can't risk the man hearing this plan. He watches her fidget in her seat a while before asking,

"You okay?"

He knows she's not. She knows _he knows_ she's not. But Sara replies, anyway, with, "Yeah."

It's going to be a long ride.

* * *

She sends Michael off on a quest for water. It's the only thing she can think of; Lincoln's asleep and she needs some way to be left alone with Kellerman. Sara can tell Michael looks a bit anxious over leaving her with the man who had most recently tried to murder her, but he agrees to get her some water, anyway. When he's gone, Sara takes a few calming breaths and makes her way to the back of the car, towards where Kellerman is seated, half-asleep. He says some bullshit about their "moment" together not being personal, that _war_ is never personal, but Sara doesn't care. The only thing she wants, right now, is revenge.

The moment she wraps the cord around his neck, she knows she's in it for the long haul. He writhes helplessly in front of her and she pulls tighter. He's choking and turning red and Sara's _glad_; some tiny part of her is wondering when she turned into this person, the type of person who would kill rather than save, but that tiny part is drowned out by the bigger part who had dealt with Kellerman that day in the motel. This is for everything he'd done to her, both physically and psychologically. This is for the drowning and the electrocution and the verbal abuse. This is for holding her at gunpoint and snatching her away from Michael and alluding to her father's untimely demise. This is for the lying; for Lance and AA meetings and blueberry pie. This is a vengeance she had never sought before and, now that she's had a taste, cannot get enough of.

She's strangling him less than thirty seconds before Lincoln notices. He jumps up and begins to fight her, telling her to back up, to let him go. Moments after, she feels Michael's arms around her waist, his voice, low and calm, in her ear, telling her to settle down, telling her it's alright. And it isn't until then, it isn't until Lincoln is holding an aggressive Kellerman back and Michael is whispering soothing words, his arms still around her, that she realizes what it is she almost did. She has to get out of here, to step away from the situation, but there's nowhere to go; they're on a moving train. She tells him it wasn't personal which makes him laugh; she wants to smack him. But she doesn't. She leaves instead.

God, what had she almost done? Sara pulls herself onto the bathroom counter and begins to think about her actions, as if she's a child voluntarily putting herself in a time-out. There's something awful running through her lately; something life altering, as though she's regressed back to the person she was before she'd straightened herself out and taken a job at the prison. She wants to go home. She wants to put all of this behind her and move on with her life. But she can't; she's as much of a fugitive as Michael and Lincoln are and even if this key leads to their exoneration, she's not sure it will lead to hers.

Michael knocks, then, and she allows him entry. She half-smiles at him, saying, "I've been sitting here evaluating. I jumped bail, I'm on the run and I just tried to take a man's life. I'm not using, which is, actually, quite an accomplishment. But three weeks ago, I was a doctor."

"You can get that back, all of it," Michael tells her. "You need to believe that."

She doesn't. She knows she looks skeptical when she asks, "Do you believe that? You think you can get it all back?"

"I choose to have faith, because without that, I have nothing," Michael says, crossing the room to stand next to her. "It's the only thing that's keeping me going."

"Well, I've got two things keeping me going," Sara sighs. "The first is that I want the people who took my dad."

Michael nods his understanding and as much as it terrifies Sara to admit it even to herself, she must finally tell him how she feels or she may never get the chance. "And the second, ironically, I probably wouldn't even say if I hadn't lost him. But, um…"

"You should know that," She draws in a deep breath to calm her nerves and can't chance a glance at him. "The first thing they tell you when you take the job is never to fall in love with an inmate…"

Sara trails off and when she does look up at him, when she does meet his cool blues eyes, he's looking back at her with so much genuine emotion that it momentarily takes her breath away. He cups her cheek, leans in closer and the build-up is almost as heart-pounding and exhilarating as the kiss itself; almost. It's just like the first time and it isn't, not really, because they're uninhibited, now; less worried about interruptions and job loss and more worried about physical contact and each other. They hop off the counter; Michael wraps his arms protectively around her torso as hers come to rest around his neck, not once severing contact with one another. It's everything they've wanted for weeks; it's hope and comfort and protection and _love_. It's everything they need, especially at a time like this.

The train jolts and the alarm sounds and it's like a bucket of cold water stopping them before they can go too far. Reality check- they're still in the women's bathroom of a moving train, running from the law. Lincoln announces it's a roadblock and tries to ignore the way the two of them now appear- kiss-swollen and clothes-mussed as if they're teenagers getting caught by their parents. Sara throws a cautionary glance at Michael, momentarily panicked by their newest setback. But he has a determinedly serene look in his eyes that tells her not to panic; that their passionate moment in the bathroom would not be the last they'd share.

That, like always, he has a plan.

And, like always, Sara puts her utmost faith in him.

* * *

Their four body doubles jumping off the train allows them to depart in Chicago like regular Joes. They miraculously find an unlocked car, pile in and head towards the cigar club Sara's father had once been a part of. Michael slides in the backseat, beside her, and notices that she's once again agitated. It makes sense; they're back in the place where this all began and God help them if they got caught so close to home. She's drumming her fingers a bit on the seat between them, absentmindedly staring out the window as Chicago rushes by. Michael reaches out and claims her active hand with his own. She glances over at it, at _him_, and doesn't say anything but doesn't let go.

They park outside the cigar club and Kellerman briefs them on the happenstances inside. "There are private humidors in the back. Each member's name is on their box."

Lincoln wonders, "Any security?"

"A receptionist. That's it," Kellerman responds. "I'm not a wanted fugitive. Give me the key; I'll do it."

Michael smirks; as if he'd _ever_ hand their one chance of hope over to an ex-Company agent. He glances over at Sara and asks, "Want to take a walk?"

She nods eagerly. "Yeah."

Exiting the vehicle, they cross the street and head up the stairs towards the great stone building. Michael takes that moment to relay the day's activities. He can't imagine there had ever been a time, now, when he'd doubted Sara would want to meet up with him. He can't fathom how much she cares for him; all he'd known, until today, is how much he'd cared for _her_, how much he'd thought about her, how much he'd worried about her these past few weeks. She'd told him, earlier, that she's in love with him and, to be completely honest, Michael hadn't been sure what love felt like. He's never been in love before. But if he takes into consideration everything he's feeling for Sara, everything he's ever _felt_ for her, then he's sure this heart-tingling, spirits-lifting craziness must be that unpredictable thing called love.

"Oh, and Sara, about before," Michael stops her, opening the door to the club and waiting until she's looking at him to confess his feelings. Her hazel-green eyes are glistening again and Michael realizes he's been in love with this girl for a long time. "Me too."

Sara pauses as if he's altered her entire world; perhaps he has. A ghost of a smile appears on her face and when he grins back, it turns into that full-fledged radiant smile he'd yearned for back at Fox River. "Yeah."

And so it begins.


	39. Bad Blood

Bad Blood

Sara's barely in the club two minutes before she's sure they've alerted the police. She has just found the locked boxes with the member names but hasn't yet found her father's when a club member calls for her and she tries to think of an excuse to avoid him. She can't think on her feet, not in this kind of pressure, so she turns down the hallway and blindly navigates toward the door. There's panic in her heart and she begins breathing rapidly and almost has a heart attack when she collides with a body; it's Michael and she relaxes instantly. He tells her it's time to go, but there are police out front. They'll have to go around back.

There are police there, too; Michael grabs her hand and they sprint through a back alley, back towards the car. She feels as though she's failed them, but it doesn't deter Michael at all. He tells them there is, in fact, another member of the club they can ask for help. It's Henry Pope and there is no _way_ this encounter is going to end well. But they follow through with the plan anyway because, at this point, they have no other choice, no one else to turn to. While Kellerman and Lincoln stand guard over the club from a sky point, Michael and Sara head to Pope's house and do not exactly receive the warmest of welcomes.

He doesn't say anything to Michael that Sara hasn't already said herself and she tells Pope this is true. He is angry and belligerent and so close to calling the cops Sara's ready to make a run for it. But Michael's prepared; something about the combined efforts of his persuasive words and the gun he points at Pope's forehead convinces him to help the two. They make the drive back to the cigar club, Sara's insides churning and turning the entire way there. At any point, he could change his mind and alert the police that they're back home, in Chicago. She thanks him, Michael tells him it's their only hope and they both watch as Pope makes the trek indoors to retrieve their last hope at freedom.

"You sure about this?" Sara asks, watching as the doors close behind Pope.

"Nope," Michael replies, glancing away. She's sure he can't watch anymore.

"Either way," Sara puts in. "You still owe me dinner."

Michael's mouth twists into a grin. "Is that so?"

"Yup," She insists, as serious as ever. "First week in Fox River, you promised me if you ever got out of there you would take me to dinner."

"Well maybe after we wrap this up we can stop off and get you a burrito on the way back to Pope's house."

Sara grins. "Scofield, I don't know what you're used to, but anything short of a filet mignon is not going to cut it with me."

"It's a date," He smiles back, reaching his hand back in offering.

Sara takes it and holds onto his promise.

* * *

Pope doesn't end up turning them in or killing them himself, so Michael takes this as a great victory. He does, also, hand them a USB file that he found in Frank Tancredi's lockbox and tells them they certainly have something, some kind of evidence that could potentially set Lincoln free. It's no wonder The Company wants it back so badly. They thank Pope immensely and head off to a hotel where they'll have a safe space to listen to the tape. Somehow, Sara manages to conjure a laptop and Michael isn't sure how, but he's grateful all the same. They plug it in and press play and their entire world is turned on its axis.

That night, try as they may, none of them can sleep. Lincoln loudly declares he'll take the couch, but he stays up most of the night replaying the tape that could prove his innocence over and over again. Michael slips into the bedroom after midnight and shuts the door behind him carefully, just to check and be sure that Sara's alright and settled in okay, but it's nearly unnecessary. She's lying, still fully dressed, upon the bed and staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep as well. Michael crosses the room and sits on the bed beside her. She doesn't acknowledge his presence at first; just continues to stare at the ceiling as though everything she'd known had been shaken and rocked.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Michael says finally and Sara shakes her head.

"Who could?" She asks softly. "Michael… That tape…"

"It isn't what I was expecting, either," He sighs, leaning back against the headboard. "I'm not sure what to do with it."

She pushes herself up to sit beside him. "Me either. I mean, we have to find someone who won't discredit it. But… who?"

"I'm not sure," Michael sighs and searches in the dark, blindly, for her hand. He finds it and claims it with his own. "Look, Sara… I'm really sorry we dragged you into this."

She laughs a bit. "Lincoln said the same thing to me earlier today. It's not so much that you dragged me as it is that I really didn't have much of a choice."

"I promise you," Michael vows. "I'm going to make things right."

"I believe you," Sara tells him and it makes him feel slightly better.

"And when I do," He continues. "You and I are going to Thailand."

She grins. "And Baja?"

"And Baja," He agrees. "We have a date with a hammock and a couple of beers."

"I could use a hammock on the beach right about now," Sara says dreamily.

"It's going to happen," Michael smiles. "It shouldn't be long now. Now that we've got the proof we need, all we need is someone to give it to."

"Yeah," Sara says, her own smile fading. "That solves Lincoln. What about you? And me?"

"Whoever we talk to," Michael replies. "Whoever we end up giving the tape to, they're not getting it without guaranteeing us our freedom, too."

"And they're just going to agree to that?" Sara wonders. "They're just going to be fine with you setting the terms?"

"They're going to have to be, won't they?" Michael says. "After all, I'm the one with the tape."

She chuckles. "You have this all figured out, don't you?"

"More or less," He responds, and presses a kiss to her forehead, moving to leave. "I'll let you get some sleep."

"You're leaving?" She asks and Michael can sense disappointment in her voice.

He's glad the lights are off because he's sure he looks like a bumbling idiot. "Well, I just thought…"

"You don't have to leave," Sara tells him and pats the space beside her. "I don't… I don't want you to leave."

So he doesn't; he grins and curls around her and they don't end up falling asleep, but stay up talking long into the night. And when dawn breaks over the horizon, they know they must find someone who will be willing to hear what they have to say.

But they're going to do it together and that's got to count for something.


	40. Wash

Wash

The next morning, Michael, Sara and Lincoln gather around the laptop once more for another listen of the tape. It's just as shocking and horrifying as it had been the day prior. They're not sure who they can trust, now; Michael suggests handing it over to an inside member of the president's administration their father had offered in what seems like a lifetime ago. Lincoln is not as agreeable to the plan; he does not see how turning over the one piece of evidence they have to the same people who set him up is going to solve anything. But, at this point, it's all they've got.

Lincoln contacts LJ and Jane; the former to make sure he's alright, the latter in order to receive a name and a number to hand the tape over to. Jane gives him the number for a Cooper Green and when Michael contacts him, he agrees to meet with the brothers to listen to the tape. The entire conversation, Michael's attention switches back and forth between his brother and Sara, both of them watching him anxiously and both of them equally as ready for this entire thing to be over. He hangs up the phone and sighs. Here they go again; another wild goose chase in the search of their freedom.

"Ready?" Lincoln asks impatiently.

Michael nods curtly. "Yeah."

He crosses behind Sara and meets her gaze. There's so much he wants to say to her and so much he can tell she wants to say in return, but there isn't much time. They keep it simple; Sara reaches out and takes his hand. "Good luck," she bids them and he gives her hand a squeeze, stroking the back with the pad of his thumb. He wishes he could do something, anything, to ease the rising fear and paranoia in her eyes, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't apprehensive as well. As he heads for the door, he hears Lincoln reassure her, instead.

"This will work."

"You think?"

And oddly, despite the situation, this makes Michael smile. He hadn't yet had time to tell Lincoln that Sara is far from optimistic.

Something tells him that, through this small interaction, he'd just found out for himself.

* * *

There is one thing Sara absolutely has to do while they're home- she must visit her father's grave. She isn't shocked at all to see Bruce Bennett there when she does eventually make it to the cemetery and he's still claiming his innocence from that day her body double ended up dead on the pavement. Something about the way he insists adamantly that the phone line had been tapped or the sincerity in his eyes makes her believe him if only slightly. But she can't dwell upon this too long. She must meet with Michael, Lincoln and Cooper Green to prove their innocence.

Except- when she does, when she allows Bruce a glimpse into their lives and he offers to help, when Bruce leads her straight to the one-and-only Cooper Green, the man has no idea what she's talking about. She insists he's met with Michael and Lincoln, but Cooper Green shakes his head. "I'm sure I'd remember if I did."

"If you're Cooper Green," Sara says in a panic, rushing to the nearest phone. "Then who's with Michael right now?"

She dials frantically and waits impatiently as the phone rings and rings and no one picks up. Finally, the line clicks; a deep, husky voice says, "_Yeah?_"

"Lincoln, it's Sara. Listen to me, the man that Michael's with right now is not Cooper Green, do you understand me?" Sara repeats the information, just in case, speaking rapidly. "The man that Michael's with right now is _not_ Cooper Green!"

By some miracle, Lincoln manages to reach Michael in time and the tape remains in their possession. However when they finally do meet with the actual Cooper Green, there is very little he can do for them. He tells them this kind of evidence, without a timestamp or date mark, will never hold up in the court of law. But, there is still, oddly enough, hope. "It can't exonerate you in the court of law," Cooper tells them. "Maybe it can help you outside the law."

He explains the circumstances of the tape; it not only proves Lincoln's innocence, but a heaping load of guilt generating from President Reynolds. She very clearly does not want anyone to know what is on the tape. Sara watches a plan formulate in Michael's brain, watches the wheels and cogs turn in his mind, as he smiles. "So we blackmail her."

He glances to her for approval first and she smiles.

It's as good a plan as any.


	41. Sweet Caroline

Sweet Caroline

It's a suicide mission; Sara knows it and the brothers know it too. That hammock on a Panamanian beach is sounding pretty good right about now and she wishes she could talk Michael out of this attempted one-on-one with the president. She knows it's the only chance they've got at exoneration and thus makes it necessary, but she can't say she's pleased to standby and watch him take this bullet for his brother, for _them_. Someone has to do it, but why should it have to be him? Why is everything always up to Michael?

Sara glances over at Lincoln, whose expression mirrors her own. He seems to read her mind. "Listen, if this doesn't work, we're going to need a way out. For good."

"Well, that's on you," Michael says, shrugging into his coat.

"Yeah, what about Derek?" Lincoln suggests and Michael hesitates.

"Derek Sweeney?" He clarifies. Lincoln nods. "You think he'd be up for this?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

Sara has no idea what they're talking about, but everything is suddenly happening so fast and she feels like she's being forced to go on when she isn't ready. Michael turns to her next. "This is your neck of the woods. You want to meet at the park?"

"Uh," She hesitates and thinks a moment for a more discreet location. "How's Third and Racine?"

"Third and Racine," Michael repeats. "3:15, the corner. I'll be there."

Sara nods slowly, still wary of their given activities. Lincoln is tucking a wad of cash into his pocket, presumably to bribe this Derek Sweeney, and Sara has no clue where he's gotten this cash. She isn't sure what part comes next; most likely, she'll be sitting here, glued to the television screen for any sign that Michael's meeting with the president had gone over well… or hadn't.

"If anything happens," Michael says a moment later and Sara hopes he doesn't finish his sentence. She can't bear the thought of anything going wrong. "I love you both."

If he had to end that sentence, Sara's glad he ended it the way he did. They leave her behind and she begins to gather their things, tucking them into her purse for safekeeping. But moments later, the lock on the door turns and a tremendous force is put upon the deadbolt. Sara freezes in a momentary panic; someone had found them. Someone knows they're here. She dives under the bed, holds her breath, doesn't dare to blink. A pair of patent leather shoes appears right before her eyes and circle the bedroom a bit before departing. Just when she thinks the coast is clear, she crawls out from under the bed and is seized by the very same FBI agent who had chased her and Michael back in Gila- Alexander Mahone.

He seems to know an unimaginable amount of details about her and Michael and she'd commend him for his research efforts if he weren't pointing a gun at her face. He's kind of terrifying, she has to admit; he's pacing around, agitated, and he's extremely jumpy, as if he's suffering from a panic attack or ADHD and has forgotten to take his meds. Alex reminds her of a psychopath and, with the gun-waving and his stalker-like habits, it wouldn't surprise her if he turned out to be one. Then she notices the shaking hands, the wavering voice, the desperation… and realizes he's a junkie. Maybe they have something in common, after all.

Alex is using a tranquilizer so strong she's surprised it hasn't killed him yet. She tells him he needs help; he says it's hardly what he's looking for. He makes a bunch of empty threats and Sara's almost sure she'll be able to talk him out of killing her, but then he starts talking about the easy way out and cocking his gun and Sara's heart begins to race. He's going to kill her now; she's going to die. Something makes her glance at the clock- it's 3:20. She was supposed to meet Michael five minutes ago and he'll know something's wrong. And, like clockwork, the phone rings; Alex dives for it at the same time Sara grabs his gun. She holds him at an awkward gunpoint and is more terrified than he is as she makes a break for it.

She heads for the car mindlessly and hopes Michael is still waiting for her.

* * *

From the second he places the note into the president's hand and gets escorted away by secret service, Michael knows this isn't going to end well. He's right; he's led into the kitchen of some restaurant he's never seen before and roughed a bit for not talking. A well-dressed Asian man enters the scene and beats the shit out of him before allowing his people to threaten his life; if he doesn't hand over the tape that the president wants so badly, then he is going to get an unwelcomed bullet to the brain, an express departure in a body bag. For a moment, Michael's sure he's going to die. But Caroline Reynolds stops everything from happening; she wants to know what it is that Michael wants.

He sets the dictation of terms; either the president will allow him to call Lincoln so he can hear the tape over the phone, or she'll hear the tape all over the news, because that is where he's going next. Or so he tells her. This appears to frighten her though Michael's sure she'd kill him if he knew she was afraid. Once Lincoln's on the phone, Michael watches as the contents of the tape change the expression on her face from one of dignity to one of guilt and paranoia. She listens until she can't anymore and snaps the phone shut. Michael says he wants a presidential pardon and she, in an effort to be rid of him, agrees.

Michael is released and heads to Third and Racine, to meet Sara in order to tell her it's finally all over. He's sure he looks like a complete mess; he still tastes blood and his eye is killing him and his ribs are sore, but he's going to be a free man. That's all that matters. He heads to the corner of the two streets they'd agreed upon and waits, watching as the clock ticks from 3:15 to 3:16, 3:17 and beyond. Sara doesn't show. He doesn't know what to do. Michael finds the first payphone he sees and calls her. She doesn't answer. He's honestly starting to panic, now. He heads in the direction of the warehouse Lincoln's waiting in and calls her from every payphone he passes. It isn't until he reaches the warehouse that he finally reaches her.

He tells her it worked; that they got the pardon and that President Reynolds should be announcing it at any minute. Sara's speechless with shock and he can't blame her. It had been the riskiest thing they had tried thus far and somehow it had still come through for them. As he waits for Sara to arrive, he gathers around the television with Lincoln as the president's press conference begins. He and Lincoln are waiting on bated breath, as every word coming out of her mouth is not anything linked to their pardon. They wait endlessly; it never comes. Instead, she announces she has a form of malignant cancer and is resigning from her presidency.

Lincoln is about to blow a gasket. He shouts obscenities and tosses things around the room, understandably and unimaginably pissed off.

"There's only one thing we can do," Michael says, too shocked to react as his brother had. "We've got to disappear. Forever."


	42. Panama

Panama

The president has stepped down but she didn't pardon the brothers before she did so and everything they learned is useless, now. Sara's still in suspended shock; something had made Michael think that this would work. If the president had agreed to pardon them and then turned around to stab them in the back, it shouldn't shock her, given her more advanced crimes. And yet, something about it still irks her, still irritates her to no end. _It's not fair_, she wants to scream. _They're innocent, they didn't do anything!_ She's screaming and screaming internally, because she's sure if she did so out loud, no one would listen to her anyway.

Her phone rings and she answers instantly. It's Michael and she wants nothing more than to be with him right now to ease his mind and tell him he'd done everything he could. "_Hey. Are you alright?_"

Typical; he's always worried about someone else. She replies, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just heard the news about the president. What does it mean?"

"_It means it's time to go_."

Sara hesitates. She can hear ship horns in the background and knows he's onboard already. "Okay. When?"

"_Ten minutes. How far away are you?_"

"Five," She answers and switches lanes. She isn't sure what this means for her; he had once sold her a dream of beaches and scuba shops, but have his plans changed since then? Seagulls cry on his end of the line and Sara realizes this really is the end of the road.

"_Listen Sara, Linc and I are on the ship. This is it. There's no turning back now, so… I know this isn't what you wanted from your life, but in case you're interested, there is room for one more._"

Sara grins. His plans hadn't changed, after all. "Michael Scofield, are you asking me to sail off into the sunset with you?"

"_Well, it's more of a freighter, but… yes_."

"I'll be there," She promises and she can almost hear the relief in his voice.

"_See you soon._"

Sara has every intention of getting to that shipyard, truly, she does. But she's being tailed; at first she thought perhaps it was a coincidence, but she begins to take random turns and back streets and knows for a fact that the authorities are on her tail. She has two options; continue on to the shipyard, let authorities know exactly where Michael and Lincoln are and watch helplessly as the three of them are then arrested. Or, she can stop, pull over and turn herself in, successfully directing authorities away from the freighter in order to allow Michael and Lincoln their trip to freedom in Panama. She wishes there was a magic third option in which she, too, gets to join them, but she knows this is impossible. She must sacrifice herself instead.

She parks the car as the phone rings again. Michael's voice is frantic when he says, "_Sara, what's the matter? The ship is leaving._"

"Michael," Sara replies worriedly and then realizes if she tells him she's in trouble, he'll likely flock to help her. And as much as she'd appreciate that, she can't allow him to sacrifice his safety for her own. Even though, in some twisted way, it makes perfect sense for her to do it for him. She says instead, resigning herself over, "I'm already onboard."

She's not sure he buys it, but continues on anyway. "I'm sorry, I must've just missed you. Where are you?"

"_We're on deck_."

"Great, I'm on my way up," Sara says, trying to inject false composure into her words and failing miserably. And, because she's not sure when she'll ever see him again, she adds, "Love you."

Sara gives in; she doesn't protest when she's being handcuffed and agrees to her Miranda rights and gives Mahone a bullshit statement about wanting a donut. She eyes him strangely when he throws a tantrum about it and gets tucked into the awaiting police car.

She hopes Panama is sunny and warm and keeps Michael safe. She tries not to watch the ship sail out of port and not to think of how she should be on it, too.

* * *

"Everything good?" Lincoln asks and Michael snaps the phone shut.

"Yeah," He states, but his voice is as uneasy as Sara's had been moments earlier. They're on deck; had been ever since setting foot on the boat. If she had somehow boarded, they certainly would have seen her. He tells Lincoln he'll be right back and takes off throughout the ship in search of her. Endless halls and empty rooms greet him instead. When he again reaches Lincoln, he's hoping Sara is with him, but is met only with Lincoln's lonely frame asking if he'd had any luck. Obviously he hadn't; Michael peers over the ship's railing and watches as they begin to reel in the gangway. The horn sounds and the engine roars to life; they're leaving _now_ and Sara's still not here.

"I couldn't find her," Michael says and when Lincoln doesn't respond, he follows his line of vision to the dozens of police cars congregating just outside the shipyard. His heart drops into his stomach.

"Sara," He exhales in fright and rushes towards the end of the ship. "We've got to go back."

Lincoln grabs his arm. "Michael, we can't-"

"There's _always_ something we can do," Michael insists, watching as the lights flash, the sirens yell.

"Not this time, man," Lincoln tells him, shaking his head. "It's done. I'm sorry."

He may be sorry all he wants, but it doesn't make it okay. Michael's still visibly upset, days later, when they finally reach Panama and ride that bumpy bus into the city. Lincoln's talking about bananas and sugar cane and how beautiful the country is, but Michael doesn't give a shit, honestly. He knows Sara should be here with them and he can't believe he allowed something like this to happen. He tries to call her the moment he can, but Lincoln stops this, too. Michael's sure his brother thinks he's losing it; he asks Michael if he wants to get caught, tells him that if Sara's in custody, they have access to her phone, she doesn't. It isn't anything he doesn't already know, but it still isn't welcoming to hear.

"For what it's worth," Lincoln says a bit later as they're headed down the beach towards their boat. "No one forced Sara to do what she did."

It should make him feel better; it doesn't. Michael says shortly, "Whatever gets you through the night."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lincoln asks in irritation. "I didn't ask you to use her."

Michael shoots back, "It's not that simple."

Lincoln shrugs. "Whatever gets you through the night, buddy."

And this pisses Michael off and soon they're both pissed, angrily shouting about all the people they've lost and all the things they haven't yet accomplished. They come to physical blows over their differing opinions and soon, Michael realizes this has nothing to do with Sara.

They're fighting over each other. They're fighting because Lincoln owes his life to his brother and he'll never be able to repay him for it. They're fighting because Michael promised he'd free his brother and even though they're here, alive and in Panama, Lincoln will never truly be _free_.


	43. Fin del Camino

Fin del Camino

The state wants to compensate for Sara having been on the run the past two weeks and, therefore, puts her on trial immediately. It isn't exactly going well. They allow Michael's tape for evidence and when it plays throughout the courtroom, Sara watches Michael speak nothing but beneficial words about her and a lump the size of a peach forms in her throat. She blinks back tears and tries very hard to remain stone-faced, as she was told, and show no emotion. She can't say it's easy. Later that afternoon, her lawyer comes to her with an offer from the DA. She'll serve twelve years. Sara adamantly disagrees.

"They want to hang somebody for this, Sara," Marty tells her. "And, unfortunately, you're the one they've got in their grasp. There's no avoiding it."

"With good behavior," Sara wonders. "How many years of my sentence can I expect to serve?"

"On a 12-year sentence," Marty thinks a moment before breaking the news. "You'll do nine years."

"I'll be out before I'm 40," Sara says, trying optimism on for size. It doesn't suit her.

"I'm sorry, Sara."

"Sara," Her other lawyer comes rushing in. "A very credible witness has just come forward and he's willing to testify. He'll corroborate everything you've said about this conspiracy."

Sara asks, "Who?"

Moments later, she can't believe her eyes; Paul Kellerman is led into the courtroom and sworn in on the stand. She listens as he documents and details everything and when the state looks skeptical, he has the proof to back it up.

Sara watches and listens and barely breathes. She thinks of Michael and of Lincoln and thinks there might be hope, after all.

* * *

Finally, after a ruthless, month-long reign of terror, Sucre and Michael end up putting T-Bag in his place. They have the long-awaited fight they'd been anticipating since the moment T-Bag first joined the breakout team that ends in his arm being nailed to the floor with a knife. Sucre takes off in search of Bellick to learn the true whereabouts of Maricruz, so Michael takes the money and takes off. He heads back to the pier, to the Christina Rose that would hopefully be their ticket out of here… except Lincoln is nowhere to be found.

Just as he's about to contact the hospitals, Mahone calls and threatens him with his brother's life. He wants it all; he wants the money, he wants the boat, he wants the _plan_. If he doesn't get these things from Michael in the next five minutes, Lincoln is going to pay for it. Five minutes is certainly not enough time to rework his entire plan. Michael feels an incredibly sense of déjà vu; he must go help his brother. He can't allow his brother's fate to slip away from him, as had Sara's days earlier. He hadn't been able to save her; there was nothing he could do about it, despite his best efforts.

But Lincoln… He isn't going to allow himself to lose the only other person he cares about as much as Sara.

After all, and he'd learned this from her, sometimes you have to sacrifice yourself to save the ones you love.


	44. Sona

**And we're done again! Season 2 has come to a close, ladies and gentlemen. That means that we're halfway through with their tale... and, of course, there's a _lot_ of pain and suffering ahead for Michael and Sara. It wasn't fun to write, let me tell you. Until then, try to enjoy "Sona" despite the ending! Thank you all so, so much for reading and extra thanks for those who've reviewed! Honestly, I love the feedback. Thank you so much!**

* * *

Sona

Michael is sure this is the end. Sara will be locked away in prison for years and he'll have no way of getting to her, of getting her out. He arranges for the boat to wait for Alex at the dock, but loads the decks with a little surprise courtesy of his new friend Chaco. He'll escape with Lincoln as well, no problem. But there is still one stone left unturned; he wishes to do at least _something_ for Sara, even though it will mean very little coming from so far away. He purchases a satellite phone in town in order to make a call, the last call he will ever make to her, most likely.

"Sara, it's me," Michael begins once her voicemail picks up. "It's a strange thing, leaving a message for someone you know is never going to get it. I can only assume the worst, so… This will be the last message I leave for you."

"I just wanted you to know that I made it," Michael says after a deep breath, but it doesn't feel as good to say as it should. "But it's no good without you."

He pauses a moment, not sure what to say next. "Anyway, you remember when I… remember when I told you about those 50-cent beers in Baja at happy hour? They're even cheaper down here."

Michael hopes she does get this message because he's sure the memory would make her smile. "If by some miracle, you do get this, you need to listen close."

He details exactly where he is, exactly where he'll be, in case she's out there somewhere looking. He, of course, hides it behind a coded message in case her phone ends up in the wrong hands. But he's not expecting much; he's sure she's locked up by now.

"Sara, I love you," He ends the message. "And I'm _not_ going to leave you behind."

* * *

Sara watches as Kellerman's story transfixes each and every member of the jury and the chamber. He goes into precise detail about Caroline Reynolds's orders, about framing Lincoln Burrows- luring him into the garage that evening and making it look as though he had killed the man who was not Steadman. He tells them about Steadman living in Montana, committing suicide under pressure the week prior. He tells them about his orders to do everything he could to get information out of Sara and, when he was done with her, how he had orders to kill her. It's all there; everything Kellerman had been told to do and had done for The Company is all detailed in every last document that he had brought along.

Under the circumstances, all charges against Lincoln Burrows and Sara Tancredi are dropped. Sara's jaw hangs open as Kellerman is in turn arrested. "I literally don't even know what to say to you."

He smiles. "It was good knowing you, Sara."

As he's led out of the room, Bruce calls to her. "Sara, I suggest we get you out of here. It's going to be a media circus out there and it'll only get bigger. Let's go."

"Sure," She nods numbly and follows him out of the courtroom.

As she fishes through her purse for her cell phone- she _has_ to get in touch with Michael immediately- the reporters are shouting over each other and only then does it hit her. "Oh my God, Bruce- Lincoln's a free man."

Bruce nods, chuckling a bit, "Yeah, I guess he is."

She finally finds her cell phone. "Michael left me a message… Okay, my God…"

Bruce waits as she listens to the fateful message. "He doesn't know. He's still planning on running."

She dials his number agilely. "Come on, Michael. Come on, come on, come on…"

Nothing. The phone rings and rings and Michael doesn't pick up. "I've got to go to him."

"What's that, about 3,000 miles, Sara?" Bruce asks.

"It is," Sara confirms. "So we're going to have to swing by my hotel and you're going to have to get me to the airport, because, Bruce, he's got to know he doesn't have to run anymore."

Bruce nods. Sara's not sure he understands the height of the situation. "What he's doing right now is going to get him killed."

* * *

Michael can't say he's proud of what he's done to Alex Mahone, but it's gotten him off his case for now and that's all that matters. He finds Lincoln, still has the money, and the two of them head to the private dock where he's set up a transfer with Chaco. They tread through the woods and Lincoln thanks Michael for everything he's done for him. There's still an uneasy air between them; it's been there ever since their argument and fisticuffs days earlier. But Michael simply nods; it's Lincoln's life, he certainly doesn't need to thank Michael for fighting for it and doing everything he can to make sure he's protected.

The boat comes into view and Chaco meets them at the pier. "It's the best I could do with the money you gave me."

"That'll work," He tells him, shoving a handful of bills into his hand. "_Gracias_."

"_Gracias_," Chaco says, turning to go and calling behind him, "She's very pretty."

"She'll get us where we need to go, right?"

Chaco shoots him a mischievous grin. "Not the boat, _se__ñor_."

They glance back toward the boat and who should appear from the deck but Sara Tancredi. Michael's heart gives a strong tug and he's drawn to her instantly. "I got your message. Thank God I found you guys."

Michael is still speechless. He's sure he's never been happier to see _anyone_. He pulls her into a hug and closes his eyes, a feeling of _home_ coming over him the moment her arms wrap around him. "Thank God is right."

"Michael, Lincoln's free," She then says and neither of them can believe it.

"_What_?" Lincoln exclaims in surprise.

"It's all over the news," She explains. "Paul Kellerman came forward and he had everything documented and he made a full confession."

"Are you serious?" Michael asks, a smile forming slowly across his lips.

"Yeah," She grins back.

"Everything?" Lincoln wants to know.

"Everything, all charges," Sara confirms. "It means you don't have to run anymore."

"What about Michael?"

"A friend of my father's getting into it, but he's pretty sure under the circumstances that no one's going to pursue you," Sara tells him and Michael feels as though the weight of the world's just been lifted from his shoulders.

"Man," Lincoln sighs, sitting down. "I need a drink."

Sara laughs. "I'll go see what I can find."

And just as they're ready to celebrate, just as they're finally going to sail off into the sunset, they hear footsteps on the dock and look up to find Bill Kim, pointing a gun at them and threatening to pull the trigger. So close, they had been _so close_ to a happy ending, this time. He tells them that they may be done with The Company, but The Company certainly isn't done with them. Lincoln pleads with Bill Kim to kill him instead of Michael, that it started with him and should end with him, and Kim makes a sarcastic claim about fidelity within families and only one of the brothers surviving before there is a shot.

His body falls against the pier and into the water and when Michael and Lincoln glance up, it's Sara who's holding the smoking gun.

She's shaking uncontrollably, as if she can't believe what she's just done, and Michael somehow manages to guide her off the boat and get her to run. They're sprinting through the Panamanian jungle with the police on their tails and they somehow get separated from Lincoln. Michael hopes he's alright, but he's more concerned, right now, with Sara's psyche than his brother's. After all, Lincoln had never killed _anyone_. They find an abandoned shack in the middle of the jungle and rush into it, shutting the door tightly behind them. Sara dissolves in the corner into a hyperventilating shell of herself and Michael checks all the windows for an escape route, but there aren't any in sight. They're surrounded. They're trapped.

He crouches beside her and wraps both arms around her in a source of comfort. Michael's just as terrified as she is because, for once, he doesn't have a plan to get them out of this. Sara whispers, "Michael, I took a man's life."

His heart breaks when he looks at her and he runs a soothing hand through her hair, down her face, up and down her shoulders. "Don't think about that. You and I have got a date, remember? Two limes and a couple of beers. Don't forget that."

Michael beckons for the gun, but Sara repeats, "I took a man's life."

"We're going to walk out of here together and we'll tell them exactly what happened," Michael tells her and when Sara's only response is to sob even harder, he curls a hand into her hair and guides her face towards his. "Look at me. Look at me, look at me, look at me."

She does and she nods and he hopes he can believe his words as much as she does. "We're going to tell them what happened. We're going to explain everything. And I'm going to do whatever I can to help you. Okay?"

Sara nods again. "Yeah."

"Okay," Michael smiles slightly. "Now give me the gun."

She does and uses the opportunity of free hands to dab at her eyes. He guides her upwards and asks, "You ready?"

Sara launches herself into Michael's arms and holds onto him as if they'll never see each other again. Michael grips her just as tightly. She manages to utter, "I love you."

His heart breaks all over again. "I love you, too, Sara."

They kiss and Michael can feel all the heartache, all the fear, all the desperation that's poured into it. It doesn't last long, but then, they don't have much time. He asks if she's alright and she nods; his arms still around her, he brings her into his body once more, one last hug in case they never get another. He has a plan now and he's sure she isn't going to like it. But if it means she'll be safe, if it means she won't get punished for saving his life, then he's willing to do whatever it takes. He loves Sara _so incredibly much_ that risking his life for her is coming to him, now, as a second nature.

They step out into the sunshine and Michael grabs Sara across the chest, brandishing the gun against her temple. "Don't move! I'll shoot!"

"Michael, what are you doing?" Sara asks in confusion, her hands coming up to grip the arm around her collarbone.

"Nobody moves!" Michael shouts at the police, ignoring Sara's confusion. "Nobody!"

And as much as it's killing him to leave her side, he knows he must. "You sacrificed everything for me once."

She begins to fight against him, but he holds her tight. "No, I'm not going to let you do this!"

"Now it's time to say thank you," Michael announces, letting her go and stepping forward. "It was me! It was me, I did it! I did it!"

"No! No he's innocent! He's done nothing wrong!" Sara shouts as they begin to handcuff him and restrain her. "He hasn't hurt anybody, he hasn't shot anybody! Michael, tell them the truth! _Michael!_ He's done nothing wrong!"

Her screams of desperation and terror haunt him long into the night. Sona is the nastiest place he's ever encountered.

But he's doing this for Sara. So he presses on.

* * *

She can't believe he's done that. She can't believe he allowed himself to be arrested in her place and she can't believe after a month of running, he's been apprehended again. The worst part is, she actually _can_ believe it, to an extent, because she knows Michael and she knows he's always much more worried about others than himself. He always puts the welfare of others before his own. Therefore, she shouldn't be shocked that he'd kneeled in the dirt and confessed to Bill Kim's murder, even though he hadn't had a thing to do with it.

God, Sara doesn't know what to do. After they release her, she heads down the street blindly and aimlessly. She has no idea where she is and no clue where to go. She knows she needs to find Lincoln; perhaps if she could find him they could put their heads together and find a way to get Michael out of there. Except Sara doesn't have the faintest idea as to where Lincoln would be right now. She begins to walk through the crowds of people in search of him, but it's difficult to decipher between the hordes of civilians when her mind is racing and clouded by emotion and terror. She thinks she hears her name being called, she thinks she hears Lincoln's voice, but when she turns around, a bag gets pulled over her head, her arms are restrained and she gets clubbed in the face.

She doesn't think too much, after that.


	45. Orientación

**Welcome to season 3, a time of torture, death and despair. To be completely honest, I was never that thrilled with season 3. It was... sloppy. I'm sure it was because of the writer's strike, but still. I tried my best to make it more interesting but let me know what you think, please!**

* * *

Orientación

Sona is about the most corrupt, most run-down place he's ever seen. Michael spends the first night appalled and horrified by what he sees, officially unable to sleep. How he could possibly get any sleep at a place like this is beyond him; some inmates beat the shit out of each other long into the night, others fight to the death and cheer when they're victorious. Michael's seen Bellick, Mahone, even T-Bag, and does everything he can to avoid all three of them. He's just here to serve his time until the trial and, hopefully, be released. The morning after he's brought in, they announce he has a visitor and, anxiously, Michael heads out into the fenced off area.

He sees Lincoln walking towards him and is grateful he's alright, but somewhat disheartened that he's alone. Lincoln says, "I feel like I'm on the wrong side."

"You're on the right side," Michael disagrees.

"You're not," Lincoln frowns.

He smiles wryly. "You gonna break me out?"

"Too tiring, all that running," Lincoln teases.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should've lost the cowboy boots," Michael retorts, but Lincoln isn't here to play games.

"You scared?" His brother asks. Michael looks away. "Look, I'm getting you out of here, man."

"Oh, Linc…"

He explains that he's arranged a transfer and that Michael will be in a safer facility until the trial, but Michael doesn't care about any of that. He's just waiting to hear why Sara isn't with him. "You know, I keep waiting for you to mention a certain someone."

Lincoln hesitates. "I don't know where she is, man."

"Well, you've got to find her," Michael insists.

Lincoln nods. "I will."

"She's important to me, Linc," Michael admits openly. "If anything happens to Sara…"

He can't and doesn't want to finish that sentence. Lincoln assures him, "She's gonna be fine, man. I promise."

Michael nods, taking his brother's word for it and hoping it's true. He can't seem to get Sara off of his mind, though, and he doesn't expect to anytime soon. She is what consumes his mind all day; he can't stop thinking of meeting her, making her laugh, their first kiss, that wonderful moment, weeks ago, in the train. He loves her; loves her _so much_ that he's not sure he'll ever be able to live with himself if something were to happen to her while he's in here, unable to shield her from harm. He honestly hopes Lincoln is doing everything he can to locate her and won't be at ease until he can speak to her again.

The next day, a man comes to visit him inquiring about breaking out of Sona. Michael tells him his breakout days are over and he has no interest in the matter. So by the time Lincoln comes to visit later that afternoon preaching the same message, Michael begins to grow irritated. "No, no, no, Linc I can't do that again."

"No, Mike," Lincoln frowns, lifting a small cell phone to the gate and pressing play.

Michael watches as the screen illuminates. He can make out LJ, holding a newspaper, and Sara, tied to a chair and slumped over in the corner of the room. LJ says, "_Dad? Dad! I'm so sorry; they got me and Sara. Please, do what they want, Dad, please!_"

"You've got a week to find this Whistler guy and get him out of there," Lincoln tells a horrified Michael. "Otherwise Sara and LJ… They both die."

And once more, Michael is forced into doing something he doesn't want to do.

But if it means that Sara and LJ will be okay, hell, Michael will do it _twice_.


	46. Fire-Water

Fire/Water

The first day, she's too out of it to move. She stays slumped against the chair as LJ makes the fretful message to Lincoln, his hands trembling over the newspaper he's being forced to hold. The poor kid has clearly been through far worse than she had expected; he twitches, cries out in his sleep, and Sara feels awful for him. She decides, the second day, that she isn't going to stand by and allow these people to keep them locked away like animals in a dirty old shack in the middle of Panama City, where anyone could stumble upon them and it's a wonder no one has.

It's three a.m. and the guard is passed out cold in an alcoholic stupor. Sara crawls carefully across the stone floor and shakes LJ awake. "LJ, come on. We're getting out of here."

"What?" He asks groggily, blearily rubbing his eyes. "How?"

"That guard, the big one?" Sara points out, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's passed out. There's a market across the street. We can hide out there."

"And then we can find my Dad?" LJ asks hopefully, following Sara to the door.

"That's the plan," Sara agrees and then they fall silent.

The door opens soundlessly; Sergeant Alcohol is still snoring obnoxiously. They creep and crawl carefully down the stairs, but just as they're about to use the front door to escape into the world, a voice says, "You honestly thought I only had one guard here?"

Sara whirls around and comes face to face with the dark-haired woman from the day before. She lunges at Sara, who does everything she can to defend herself. She takes a good chunk of skin out of her left cheek before the woman reels back and punches her square in the mouth. Sara cries out in pain, falls to the floor, and clutches her bloody lip as LJ calls out for the woman to leave her alone. She replies by socking him, too, for good measure. She manages to somehow wrangle them back upstairs, chaining Sara to the ceiling and forcing her to hang there uncomfortably.

"You'll pay for that," She spits and in the moonlight, Sara can see the blood glisten on her cheek.

At least she'd attempted to defend herself.

* * *

Michael's far too worried about LJ and Sara and far too pressed for time to come up with an adequate escape route. As far as he knows, James Whistler can't even be reached; no one seems to know where he is, anyway. Michael does everything he can to solve Whistler's debt to Lechero, the Abruzzi of Sona. At some point in his incarceration, Whistler must have done something to piss Lechero off, because, as Michael later learns from Brad and Alex, he's being kept in the sewers beneath the prison. Michael realizes he has a large disadvantage, this time; the tattooed blueprints on his body will not help him, here. He doesn't know what's around the prison or on the outside of it. He doesn't, really, know anything at all.

Lincoln is pressuring him along and it's not helping matters. "Come on, man, we've got to keep moving. What's the plan? What's the next play?"

"Whistler got a note out on a dead body yesterday," Michael comes up with. "I don't know what it means or who it's for, but we need all the leverage we can get."

Lincoln takes the slip of paper and nods. Michael then begs, "I need some money."

When he gives his brother the money, Michael says, "No one's ever broken out of this place before, let alone with a week to plan it."

Lincoln nods. "I know."

"So, you tell these people, whoever it is that took Sara and my nephew," Michael sighs emotionally. "You tell them I get it and I'm going to do everything I can. I'm going to break this guy out of here or I'm going to die trying, and if it's the latter, then that should count for something, right?"

"That's got to count for something," Michael repeats. "You tell them that."

"I will," Lincoln promises. "I'd trade places with you in a second."

Michael smiles gratefully at his brother. "I know."


	47. Call Waiting

Call Waiting

Michael can tell Lincoln has something to tell him the moment he walks out of the gate. But he has to take this opportunity to get a good look at what's outside those prison walls, because if he doesn't know what he's getting himself into, he and Whistler could end up dead. There are two large guard towers, each with armed officers patrolling the perimeter. The fences surrounding the prison have large, twisting and turning coils of barbed wire; there is no hope of getting over them. Instead, they would have to go under and Michael's sure he can figure out some way to do that. It's risky, but he'd have to get at least one other person involved. He shakes his head of these thoughts as he comes face to face with his brother.

He begins with an explanation of Whistler being some kind of fisherman, but if that were true, why did he have a bird book and not one on bait and tackle? Lincoln then confronts the elephant in the room. "Listen man, I want you to check something out."

Lincoln reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glossy photograph of Sara. Michael looks as though he's going to be sick. "Oh my God."

"The way she's holding the paper," Lincoln points out. "It's like she's pointing at something."

"It's too small," Michael laments, not taking his eyes off of her. "I can't read it."

"This is today's paper," Lincoln procures next and Michael scans the article Sara's highlighted. "She's pointing at Santa Rita. It's a small town; twenty minutes from here."

"She's trying to tell us where she is," Michael realizes and then pleads, "I _have_ to talk to her, Linc."

"Even if they let you talk to her, man, they would be listening to every word you said," Lincoln reminds him. "You can't do that."

Michael is adamant. "We're going to need more than the name of that town. I'm coming up empty-handed here, Linc. It's already been three days and I've got nothing to show for it."

"So if I can't break Whistler out of here," Michael then tells his brother. "You're going to have to break them out of there."

It only takes a moment to convince him. Retreating to his cell, Michael takes a moment to look over the picture he'd received of Sara. God, she looks so tired, so emaciated… He felt incredibly guilty. At that very moment, Whistler comes up to him to complain about the breakout plan not going anywhere and, fed up with his negativity, Michael decides to put him in his place. "Okay, let me tell you what I know so far. Some very bad people who have done some very bad things want you alive and out of this prison which is why every bone in my body is telling me to do the opposite."

"Then why are you doing it?" Whistler deadpans.

"You're upset because someone took a book from you?" Michael asks judgmentally, pulling the photo of Sara from his pocket and showing the complaining man beside him. "This is what they took from me. So let's be clear- _this_ is what matters to me. Not you and not your _book_."

Whistler is speechless and Michael walks away, satisfied. He spends the rest of the day attempting to obtain a cell phone; this of course means he must make a deal with the devil himself. T-Bag promises him the use of Lechero's phone, but the one thing about making a deal with the devil is that he always comes to collect. Michael's sure he's going to pay for this somewhere down the line, but he can't focus on that too long. He calls Lincoln, transfers his number to whoever it is that has LJ and Sara and tells them to have her call or else he refuses to breakout with Whistler. He assumes this will have some kind of effect on them; he assumes correctly, because moments later, the phone rings.

"Hello?"

"_It's me_."

He breathes a sigh relief. "How are you?"

"_I'm tired_._ Where… Where are you?_"

"It's a long story," He tells her.

"_As it turns out, I don't appear to be going anywhere_."

"I know. I know, I'm working on that," Michael assures her. "Listen Sara, I miss how we used to talk. Do you remember how we used to talk?"

"_Yes._"

"Good, because I saw your picture today and I want you know I understand," He falters for words for a moment. "I understand… the difficult place you're in."

"_Michael, listen, I… I don't want you to think like that_."

"Why is that?"

"_You have to know, it's a lost cause. LJ and I… we can see it now. It's a lost cause. Do you understand?_"

She sounds desperately tired and weak and Michael's heart hurts even more. Still, he has to urge her on, because he has no idea what she's talking about. "No. No, I don't. I don't. Help me understand. Help me understand!"

"_All I can think of to help is… maybe you just need more time? It's like they're giving you until midnight and I'm sitting here at three a.m._"

He hears a gun cock in the background and knows, dreadfully, that it's pointed at her. She says, quietly, "_They're saying I have to hang up_."

"Sara, I love you," Michael says genuinely, wanting to say so much more, but knowing he doesn't have the time.

"_I love you, too_."

"Sara?" He calls helplessly after her, even though he's heard the click of the line. "Sara?!"

But she's gone and he has to get back to work. After all, if he doesn't break Whistler out, he'll never talk to her again.

* * *

Sara's beginning to doubt her ability to speak in code and convey her message to Michael when all of a sudden, from the only murky window in their attic, she sees Lincoln kneel before the statue. He found her; Michael had understood. She has to think fast; in a panic, she slips off her shoe and launches it through the window, breaking the glass and watching as Lincoln sprints instantly towards the sound. The guards in the room shout a bunch of threats and obscenities before grabbing both her and LJ and darting down the stairs. There's a riot and commotion as they completely bypass Lincoln, are shoved into a vehicle, and head off barreling down the road.

Sara feels as if she's completely and utterly failed. LJ is sobbing beside her and she inches closer to him, placing an aching arm around his shoulders. "Hey, it's okay, alright? It isn't over yet. They're going to find us. You'll see."

"My Dad," LJ cries. "He was there! He was _right there_!"

"I know," Sara soothes, because she, too, had assumed it was going to work. "I know."

"What did they do to him?" LJ asks. "Do you think he's hurt?"

"Your Dad?" Sara assures him, trying to bring light to the situation. "Please, he's a _tank_. No one can hurt him, not even these guys."

LJ seems to take comfort from her words and she wishes she could believe them as easily as he does. As abruptly as it had taken off, the van screeches to a halt. The doors open and the guards reach in and pry LJ from Sara's arms. Just as she's about to move forward too, the dark-haired woman shoves her roughly backwards. "No way, kitten. You aren't going _anywhere_."

"What?" LJ panics as he's being dragged away. "No! Sara! _Sara!_"

"No, stop, please!" She calls weakly after them. "Don't hurt him!"

The van tears away the moment the longhaired woman climbs back in. Sara asks, "What are you going to do to him?"

"To LJ?" She asks and Sara nods slowly. "Nothing. He's a child, Sara. We're not animals."

_Right_, Sara thinks and doesn't believe her words for a second.

"You should, however, be very, very worried about what it is we're going to do to _you_," The woman threatens. "Your boyfriend may have succeeded in breaking out without any repercussions, but you, my dear, will not be so lucky."

Sara inhales a deep, painful breath and tries not to think of the painful journey that's awaiting her. She instead focuses on her conversation with Michael and replays it over and over again until it's playing throughout her mind like a broken record.

_Sara, I love you. Sara, I love you. I love you I love you I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_.

It doesn't ease the pain, but it gives her something to look forward to.


	48. Good Fences

Good Fences

They're keeping her in an abandoned shack, now. She can tell it's in the middle of nowhere because every time the door opens and a heavenly light shines in- it's ironic that there could be a heavenly light, because this feels like _hell_- all she sees in the surrounding horizon is more dusty, sandy Panamanian wasteland. She doesn't know where they're keeping LJ, but she's sure it's nowhere near here. There are shackles hanging from the ceiling and the dark-haired woman- her name is Gretchen she later learns when a guard accidentally calls her by name- instantaneously attaches Sara's wrists to each one. Sara's left wondering what she's going to do to her next.

She doesn't wonder too long.

"My mother died when I was very young, you know that?" Gretchen says and Sara, exhausted and spent, does not respond. "It nearly killed my father. I was about nine, two years after it happened, when I realized he was drinking himself nearly to death. I practically raised my little sister. Three years old, she was, when my mother passed away. I learned to do everything; had to, or my sister never would've grown up normal. I suppose there's a bit of us, each one of us, that never gets over a tragedy like that, though. You should know."

Something hard lashes across her spine. Sara yelps in pain as she realizes it's a hard, leathery whip. "Your Daddy, he was one of the good guys. He was on our side, you know, right up until the day you decided to stick your nose where it didn't belong. No one gave a _shit_ about Lincoln Burrows, Sara. He was a scummy, low-life with no job, no aspiration, no friends. Until, God forbid, his genius of a brother decided to get himself involved and, by extension, you as well. Well, now you're going to pay for it, Sara. See, everything was going perfectly fine. We had reputations to uphold, plans to stick to, just like you did, way back when. Except, our boss is… Well, let's just say, he doesn't take failure lightly."

Twice the twisted end of the whip slices through her skin. Sara squeezes her eyes shut and waits for the pain to subside. It doesn't. "You don't fuck with The Company, Sara. Because The Company's like a rattlesnake; you don't bother it, it'll leave you the fuck alone. You tease it, poke it with a stick, step on it's tail, prod it to come after you, and we're going to bite. And that venom, you can suck it out, if you'd like. But you're always going to come away from the experience a bit… different than you were before. And if you're not careful, if you're not quick enough to defend yourself, you're going to end up dead."

"This is your poison, Sara," Gretchen tells her, whipping her again and again. "Maybe next time you'll think twice about leaving that door unlocked."

Pain like she's never felt before claims her and she screams and yells and shouts until her throat is raw and dry. She smells the blood and sweat mixing with fear and panic and exhaustion. White hot flashes of pain are coursing through her body like electricity, and suddenly, she'd much rather be trapped in that motel with Paul Kellerman stuffing her into a bathtub full of icy water. She's doing this for Michael; that's what she keeps telling herself. She loves him _so much_ and she wants nothing more than to see him again. She tells herself that if she gets through this, than she will be rewarded with Michael's presence. She isn't sure it's true, but she needs some kind of hope to cling to as Gretchen tears the flesh of her back clean off.

* * *

Lincoln looks as though he's just been through hell and back, Michael notes, as he heads out to the gate to meet his brother that day. He looks as though he's going to be sick. Michael asks, "Linc, are you alright?"

"Sorry, man, I'm just… all this stuff, it's starting to get to me, you know?" Lincoln produces lamely.

Michael can sense it's more than that, but ignores it for now. "Listen, our situation could change very, very soon. The gravedigger for the prison- I need you to reach out to him."

"And tell him what?"

"It's all written down. We've got to get started now," Michael says and when Lincoln still appears unsteady on his feet, he adds, "What are you not telling me?"

"All these people that have been hurt because of me, you know? It's…" He trails off, unable to finish. "I'm so sorry, Michael."

"They did this," Michael insists, not catching the double entendre Lincoln's thrown his way. "Not you, okay? It's not your fault. Just get to the gravedigger. I feel like we're running out of time."

Lincoln doesn't respond; he merely stumbles away, trips over his own feet as if he's drunk on emotion, and continues down the beaten path. It's certainly about much more than guilt, Michael can tell, but he has time to worry about his brother later. Right now he must focus on getting out of here with Whistler, turning him over to The Company and finally being reunited with Sara. He waits for Lincoln to return with news on the gravedigger, but he doesn't, at least not right away. Whistler approaches him complaining about the plan not moving fast enough for his liking; Michael wants to tell him to stick it where the sun don't shine. Mahone approaches him in a withdrawal state that honestly frightens Michael a bit, as if he were to make the wrong move, Mahone would strike and kill him. Even still, the gravedigger is their biggest concern.

When Michael sees Sucre digging graves later that day, he knows he has nothing to worry about.


	49. Interference

Interference

Michael informs Lincoln that he and Whistler will be breaking out in the middle of the day, mostly because it's the only time they will have the opportunity. There's a spotty time in between shifts when the guard tower is unmanned and therefore, it's their ticket out of there. This discourages Lincoln, but he's not as discouraged as Michael feels when he learns they've lost Whistler's bird book, the only piece of leverage they'd had over The Company. Michael's thoughts immediately turn to Sara and he wonders if she's alright. He almost _knows_ she isn't; the last time she'd been under the watchful eye of a Company agent, she'd nearly died ("_You left me in there to drown!_"). Michael can't bear the thought of this and shakes his head.

"Tell me something," He pleads impatiently. "When you were in there handing over the bird book, did you ask for a recent photo of LJ and Sara?"

"Yeah," Lincoln answers too quickly and doesn't produce a photo.

Michael waits a moment and doesn't receive one. "Well where is it?"

"She showed me the pictures but she wouldn't let me keep them," Lincoln tells him and Michael's a bit skeptical. "Man, I'm not in a position to bargain with this people. They're _pissed_!"

_Not as pissed as I am_, Michael thinks, and tells his brother that he certainly will be breaking out tomorrow.

And when he does, when he finally gets Sara back, he's going to hurt them the same way they'd hurt her.

* * *

She doesn't know what time it is, what day it is, or how long she's been here. She doesn't know where she is or why these people think she needs this kind of punishment. But she does know that, months ago, she would have never thought that creaky wooden floorboards would make a pleasant bed (_they are, because they're much better than the ceiling shackles that chafed her wrists raw_) or that she would be craving morphine not for her addiction purposes, but just to stop the pain. The skin on her back lies in ribbons; she's lying in a pool of her own blood, half-alive, and each time she moves, it feels as though there are a thousand knives slowly slicing her skin once more.

It hurts to move. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to _be alive_.

Sara hasn't eaten anything in days, but she doesn't want to. Her stomach may be growling loud enough for the world to hear, but she's not sure she could stomach a single bite. She wants to get out of here; she needs to find a hospital to dress her wounds because she would, but she can't reach and doesn't have the strength even if she could. She wants to find out where Michael is so she can help him and finally move on, to have the life together that they had planned. She wants to find LJ and rescue him and she wants to find Lincoln to return his son. She wants a lot of things, actually, but none of these are going to come true, because she's too weak to bring herself to get off of the floor.

Just then, the door to the shack creaks open. A tall blonde woman enters and smiles at Sara. She doesn't return the gesture; she can't. The woman bends down to hand her a bowl of clean water and Sara wonders if she's supposed to lap from it like a cat. Just as she's about to go, the woman takes Sara's hand as if she was about to lead her somewhere and squeezes it. When she lets go, Sara feels something cool and metallic press against her palm. The blonde woman is gone before she can thank her or question her or even make another sound. Sara does everything she can to pull herself into a sitting position; she's in so much _pain_. But when she does, when she uncurls her fingers, she notices she now possesses a small gold key.

A key to the very door that's locked her in.


	50. Photo Finish

**All I have to say to preface this is... I'm sorry. :( It broke my heart to write it, too.**

* * *

Photo Finish

Today is the day; he and Whistler are breaking out the second that clock hits three. But he's less concerned with that and more concerned with finally getting to see Sara again. She's all he's been thinking about since the moment he set foot in Sona. There is nothing he's wanted more than to be reunited with her, if only to apologize, to kiss her, to tell her he loves her and that he'll make things right once more. They aren't too far from their happy ending, now. All he needs to do is turn over Whistler, whom The Company seems to really need, for some reason, and they would leave Panama to sail the globe or backpack across Europe or head back to Chicago and settle in for life. He doesn't care, as long as they are together.

He details the new circumstances of the escape to his brother and tells him he must drug the guard of the watchtower by their cell. Then, of course, Michael asks, "How's LJ? How's Sara?"

Lincoln doesn't look at him. "They're fine."

"What about the pictures?" Michael inquires and Lincoln shakes his head, still avoiding eye contact.

"I can't get pictures."

"I need them, Linc," Michael states in desperation.

"I can't get the pictures!"

"How do we know they're still alive?" Michael has to know. "They're the whole reason I'm doing this."

"Susan says they're fine," Lincoln nods too fast for it to be legitimate. "We'll just trust her."

"You're the one who's always telling me we can't trust anybody," Michael accuses. "Now you're… you're_ vouching_ for this person?"

"There isn't enough time!" Lincoln insists and Michael can tell his frustration is mounting. There's something his brother is hiding, but he can't quite place his finger on it.

"Listen, if I don't see pictures of LJ and Sara by two-thirty this afternoon," Michael threatens. "I'm not going anywhere."

For some reason, this sets his brother on edge. Something flashes in Lincoln's eyes; fear or panic or paranoia, but Michael can't catch what it is, not when he covers it too quickly with a calm composure. He leaves and Michael heads back inside to finish the final touches on his plan. He pulls out the photograph of Sara and takes in her drawn expression, her helpful hand placement, her grungy appearance. He hopes they aren't _too_ hard on her; he can't imagine The Company being anything but ruthless and it's tugging on every last heartstring he has. He loves this girl, he loves her to _death_, and if anything should happen to her, anything at all… He's not sure how he would ever get over it.

Later that afternoon, with fifteen minutes to spare, Lincoln returns. He's got that same expression of sickness and guilt that he'd had a day or two earlier and Michael's not sure what could possibly make him feel this way. He assures Michael that the guard will be asleep in a half hour and that The Company now knows that they're breaking out this afternoon instead of tonight, but Michael can tell that's not all he has to reveal. He's almost dreading what his brother has to say and he lifts his eyes to Lincoln's apprehensively. Lincoln's eyes hold sorrow, regret and a heaping load of guilt. Michael doesn't want to know why.

"Show me the pictures," Michael demands instead in an effort to deflect the conversation. Instead, he unknowingly takes a nosedive right into the issue at hand. "Show me the pictures, Linc."

Lincoln glances down at the ground and roughs up the dirt a little. "I can't show you the pictures, man."

The way his brother is beating around the bush tells Michael exactly why. But he has to hear it, he has to have it _confirmed_, to know for sure. "Why not, Linc?"

And Lincoln looks so conflicted with himself; he wants to tell his brother because it's wrong to keep it from him but he doesn't want to inflict this kind of pain on someone he cares for so deeply. Finally, Lincoln exhales slowly and comes right out with it. "She's dead, Michael. I-I lied to you… I'm so sorry."

Everything else Lincoln says sounds like a muffled mess of sounds and syllables that Michael cannot decipher. _She's dead. Sara's dead._ Michael's eyes fill with hot, unshed tears and he has to turn away. He can't do this; not here, not out in the open. He turns corners and navigates through the hallways of the prison before finding an empty corridor and breaking down in sobs. He can't do this; he can't _handle_ this. He feels as though someone's torn open his chest and ripped out his insides with a hot poker. He feels as though something has sucked out his soul, as though he would never feel happy again as long as he lived and no matter how hard he tried. He feels as though he just lost the love of his life. He did.

Shakily, Michael pulls the photo of Sara out from his pocket and thinks of her hazel-green eyes that had always glistened with hope and promise, her exultant smile that had brought him an endless amount of joy, her silky hair that had smelled like coconuts and the ocean and love. Then he thinks about how he will never see any of these things again and is filled with an anger so great he begins to beat his fists senselessly against the wall. Fuck The Company. Fuck Panama, Sona, and everything else that has kept them apart for this long. Michael has never been angrier in his life. He's angry with _them_ for taking such a remarkable person away from the world, away from _him_. He's angry with Lincoln for daring to keep this news from him; God, how long had she been dead? How long had he _not known?_ But mostly, Michael's angry with himself, because he'd thought he'd done the right thing in taking the blame for Kim's death, he'd thought he'd been protecting her, but in the end, he'd only been sending her to untimely death.

Michael gazes at the photo of Sara again and thinks about all the things they won't ever do. Gone are the dreams of Baja and Thailand, of napping in hammocks and waking up with the sun on their faces, of their first date and fifty-cent beers. He begins to sob all over again, heaving and crying and lamenting the fact that he hadn't been there to save her. It isn't fair; it isn't _right_. He loves her _so much_ and The Company should be able to take her away. He doesn't know what to do; part of him wants to find Whistler and bash his head against the wall, because if he can't have Sara back, if they want to kill her and make him _suffer_, then, hey, two can play at that game. He doesn't have the strength to do anything right now but bask in his own grief and regret.

Sara Tancredi had been the most amazing person he has ever known. She had done everything she could to help others, she had fought unbearable demons within and come out even stronger and she had always put others before herself. She had sacrificed herself for love on more than one occasion, had been the kindest, most generous human being Michael has ever encountered, and had made his insides twist and turn and grow warm and familiar. A person like this deserves to die with dignity and much, much later in life, when they've accomplished something great and are planning something greater. But Sara's gone; _she's just gone_ and Michael feels a great, gaping hole where his heart should be. He can't stop the tears from coming. They took Sara away from him and no matter how hard he wishes or how hard he looks, she is never, ever coming back.

He slides down the wall, unable to do anything else but mourn. He's desolate, despondent with grief and sure he'll never be whole again.

The only thing he _is_ sure of is that somewhere out there, there's a person responsible for Sara's death.

Michael's going to find that person if it's the last thing he ever does and when he does, their encounter is not going to be pretty.


	51. Vamonos

Vamonos

"_This man… This man is no friend of mine!_"

"_Look, what happened to your girlfriend is-_"

"_Her name was Sara! And she was a good person. And she would still be alive if it wasn't for _you!"

The chicken foot's been thrown down and a fight to the death is about to occur. When Whistler finds Michael a few minutes earlier, he's panicked and angry. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but _killing _me is not going to solve-"

"Relax," Michael deadpans. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Then what the hell was all that about?" Whistler shouts.

"You want to make it out of here without being seen?" Michael asks, emotionless. "We needed a diversion. Now we have one."

"You're off your head, you know that?" Whistler accuses and it isn't anything that shocks Michael, to be honest. "They're waiting downstairs-"

"We don't have time for this," Michael says. "It's almost three o'clock and that guard should be drugged by now. At 3:13 the sun's going to hit the other guard tower and we'll have the cover we need. It's now or never."

Whistler hesitates and Michael can tell he's about to say something sympathetic. "Listen, Michael… I meant what I said. About Sara."

He can't do it. Even hearing her name feels like he's being stabbed repeatedly in the heart. He feels the tears threaten to burn his eyes again- it's all still so _fresh_- and he blinks rapidly to hold them back, cutting Whistler off. "If I were you, I wouldn't mention that name again."

Whistler frowns and Michael is afraid he's about to give him pity once more. Instead, Michael adds, "We're getting out of here now and then I'm trading you for my nephew. And I'm going to find out who's responsible for taking her life… and I'm taking theirs."

If this startles Whistler at all, he doesn't show it; he merely nods and tells him he'll be ready at 3:13, as agreed upon. Michael heads out on a search alone for a few things they'd need to escape out of their cell that afternoon. It's a necessity, but it's also a way to busy his mind and keep his thoughts away from Sara's death. This becomes difficult a moment later when, upon rounding a corner, Michael comes face to face with Brad Bellick, who looks as though he's just lost his best friend and Michael is sure it's because of the news he's shared. He and Sara weren't close; even still, Bellick looks as though he's going to lose it at any moment. Michael tries his best to avoid him, but the confrontation is inevitable.

"Listen, Scofield," Bellick begins and Michael sighs, trying to get away.

"Not now."

"I just… Please?" He begs and Michael is forced to stop. "I heard you out there in the yard. Is it true? About Sara?"

Every time he has to admit this to another person out loud, it kills him all over again. But he nods, confirming Bellick's fears. "Yes."

"That's not… I mean, it's… was she…" Bellick stammers and Michael can't watch another person's sympathy. He begins to walk away, but stops as the other man says, "I'm sorry, Michael. I mean it. She was a good person. I'm _sorry_."

And Michael has to walk away because _Brad Bellick_ is feeling sorry for him and Sara is dead and today is just not his day.

If he makes it through, it'll be a miracle.

* * *

The next time Sara sees the tall blonde woman, Gretchen is leading her in by her hair and threatening her with her life and accusing her of helping Sara escape. Sara has no idea what's going on; for a moment, she genuinely thinks she's hallucinating. The woman begs Gretchen, pleads for her life, and Gretchen tells her some sob story about wanting to be a ballerina and not getting what she wanted because instead of being graceful, she'd rather blow things up. It doesn't make sense and doesn't pertain to the situation, or maybe Sara's missed some details because she hasn't eaten or slept in days. Either way, Gretchen cocks her gun, presses it to the woman's temple and pulls the trigger.

She doesn't pick up the body. Instead, Gretchen makes some comment about doing a background check, next time, on her employees and leaves the shack behind, locking the door in her wake. Sara's sitting there in suspended shock; her formally white shirt has been hit with an aerial spray of the woman's blood and most likely brain matter. She crawls carefully across the floor and cradles the woman's skull- or, what's left of it- in her palms, silently thanking her for the key and gently replacing it on the floor. She can't hear anything outside, but that doesn't mean anything. She stands shakily, like a baby giraffe or horse learning to walk for the first time, and crosses the room to the door. Slipping the key into the lock, Sara turns the bolt, opens the door and blinks in the glaring sunshine.

No one's there. No one comes after her.

There is nothing surrounding the shack but a dusty dirt road. Sara teeters towards it, walking slowly and cautiously as she gradually regains strength. Then, as if she's fueled by fear and the desire to find a familiar locale, she begins to run. She's not sure if she's running the right way down this road or if she's running straight into Gretchen's awaiting talons. She can't be sure and there's no way to know; she's just running. She's not sure how she has the strength, but she's pushing forward and she's soldiering on and moments later, there's a car in the distance. She's hopeful it isn't Gretchen or another Company agent.

Luck is on her side, today; it's a young couple in their early twenties. They stare at this woman who looks as though she's just escaped from a fight with a bear and ask, "_¿Qué le pasó?_"

And she thanks God she took Spanish all throughout high school and college. She collapses against their little buggy and the young man helps her into the backseat. She can't find the words to tell them what happened to her; instead, she tells them where she needs to go. "_El aeropuerto… Ahora mismo…_"

"_No, no, no señorita_," The girl tells her. "_Tiene que ir al hospital_."

"_No, no_," Sara disagrees just as much. "_El tren… La estación del autobus_."

In the end, she's glad they don't listen to her, because if she'd shown up at the bus station or the airport looking like _that_, she's sure she would have never gotten a ticket home.

Sara worries only a moment that Gretchen will find her again in this hospital. But she can't dwell on it too much; she's in too much pain and when they dress her wounds and no longer ask what it is she got herself tangled in, Sara's mind is at ease.

Perhaps now, she is finally on the road to recovery.


	52. Bang and Burn

Bang and Burn

The day after their failed escape, Michael has his first encounter with Lincoln since finding out about Sara. To say he's excited to see his brother would be an overstatement; he's still incredibly angry about the previous day's events. He can tell Lincoln can sense this; he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other and avoiding his brother's gaze. Michael's not angry about Lincoln lying so much as he's angry about _why_ he lied. It just doesn't make any sense to him why Lincoln would think Michael would discontinue his breakout plan because Sara was no longer in the equation. He loves LJ just as much; why _wouldn't_ he want to do everything he could to get him out of there?

"LJ," Michael asks. "Is he…?"

"Alive," Lincoln answers quickly and backpedals a bit as if this very status is insulting to his brother who only days earlier had lost so much. "They're giving us four more days."

"Good," Michael says and turns to go back inside.

Lincoln calls after him. "Listen, back at the exchange point I saw three body bags. You, me and LJ… we weren't getting out of there alive. That's the last time we get caught flat-footed."

"You do what you've got to do, Linc," Michael says bitterly. "As long as I take care of my end, right?"

"Michael, I know you're angry with me about Sara, but-"

"You lied!"

"I had to lie," Lincoln insists.

Michael isn't buying it. "Your son is my nephew and there's nothing I wouldn't do for him. But apparently… Apparently you think I only care about myself."

"I know you don't care about yourself," Lincoln notes. "But you cared about Sara. You loved her. And I'm _sorry_. But LJ's my son; I couldn't let anything happen to him. You know that!"

"You used me, Linc," Michael says and he never thought he'd be saying these words to his own _brother_. "So I guess you and The Company have something in common."

He doesn't want to be angry with his brother, not when he's already lost one of the three people he loves in this world, not when his family members are so hard to come by.

But Lincoln had done something inexcusable, at least to Michael. Perhaps he really is alone in this, after all.


	53. Boxed In

Boxed In

The authorities surrounding Sona decide to toss Michael in solitary confinement which would be fine and dandy if solitary were anything like it was back in Fox River. Instead, it's an insulated box right in the middle of the sun on the outskirts of the prison, designed to bake a prisoner into telling the truth about whatever it is he had done. Michael knows nothing in this world could make him talk and if he dies out here, so be it. Temperatures in that little box reach over one hundred degrees and Michael would be lying if he said he didn't feel the effects setting in; he's shaking and disoriented and his mouth is very dry. He's certainly dehydrated and he feels it, but he doesn't feel the heat, doesn't feel the pain, anymore. He's numb.

A familiar face peers into the box later on in the day. Fernando Sucre is here and Michael wants to hug him, because, to be honest, he's the only one Michael isn't pissed at, right now. "Hi brother. Remember me?"

"This isn't going to work," Michael insists and Sucre nods believingly.

"Come on, papi, drink this," Sucre urges, pushing the Dixie cup of water further into the solitary box.

"You can't let anything happen to LJ."

"It's okay. He's doing much better than you," Sucre tells him. "Come on, drink this. You need it."

Finally, Michael obliges, tipping back the paper cup and draining the water down. It's gone too soon. Sucre takes it back and then says, genuinely, "I'm sorry about Sara."

Michael nods, resting his chin upon his knuckles. For once, sympathy doesn't seem forced or out of guilt. He knows Sucre's being completely honest with him. He then motions towards the empty cup of water. "I'm gonna try and sneak more into the prison next time, okay?"

"I want you to quit," Michael says, then, and Sucre disagrees.

"I can't."

"We all have to quit sometime."

"Well I'm not gonna," Sucre insists. "Look at you- you're in a chicken coop. You need all the help you can get."

There's a double meaning to his words and Michael doesn't have to look far to find it. He's in a dark place; has been for days now. And he wishes it were something that could be solved, something less complicated than losing the love of his life, but it isn't. It's black and white; there's no in between. There used to be hope and light and happiness and the promise of a better tomorrow, but all of those things are gone now that she is. Michael wishes he could bring himself to focus more on the situation at hand and less on the one he no longer has any control over, but he can't. Because everything is bleak and dark and dreary and he feels like he's drowning, swallowed whole and consumed by grief.

If he burns to a crisp in the sun, if he dies of dehydration, if the solitary box drives him insane, they will all be deaths less awful than the one Sara had to suffer.

* * *

When Sara is released from the hospital a day later, the first thing she does is learn to move with the thick bandages on her back. Her sores are still giant and gaping and painful if she doesn't take aspirin, but she can't be too worried about that now. She needs to find a telephone. Apparently, payphones aren't a common thing in this small town the young couple had brought her to and she has to go out of her way to find a bed and breakfast that allows her to borrow their phone. She makes a collect call to America, first, and agrees to pay all charges and all the other nonsense the international operator throws at her.

Bruce picks up and asks instantly, "_Sara? Are you alright? I haven't heard from you in weeks! Did you get to Michael in time?_"

It's comforting to hear a familiar voice even if it isn't the one she's craving. Sara says, "Yes, but… Listen, I need some help."

"_Of course, Sara, anything I can do to help you out_."

"Do you by chance know anything about the prison system in Panama?" It's a long shot, she knows, but it's worth a shot.

"… _Why do you ask?_"

"I did find Michael," Sara exhales and is glad she's in the privacy of the back room while she's having this conversation. "But something happened… And anyway, he's in prison on a murder charge and he is innocent and I need to get him out."

"_Hold on, I'm having an extreme sense of déjà vu. Didn't we just go through this?_"

"Yes," Sara sighs. "But Bruce, anything you know- _anything_- could be helpful. I need to find Lincoln and then maybe… I don't know."

"_Well international law is not my specialty. But what's the name of the prison? I'll get my people on it right away. We'll find out everything we can_."

Sara hesitates now. She doesn't even know which prison Michael's in because, honestly, she hadn't been allowed to stick around to find out. "I'm not sure. Can I call you back?"

"_Of course. Is there anything else you need?_"

"Actually, yes," Sara asks and she feels like an irresponsible teenager when she asks, "Could you maybe send me some money? I, um… I misplaced my wallet."

"_Sure. Are you _sure_ you're okay?_"

"No," Sara tells him the truth. "But I will be."

* * *

A shocking turn of events leads Michael face to face with Susan B. Anthony, except, as he now knows from Whistler, her name is Gretchen Morgan. Michael stares at her, watches her lie and lead authorities on a false chase to find LJ, and can see how someone this manipulative, this dangerous, could be easily persuaded to sever someone's head from their body. As Michael is led back to his cell, he asks Gretchen, "Was it you? Did you kill Sara?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gretchen's mouth says, but her eyes say otherwise.

Michael looks her dead in the eye and hopes she understands. "I'm coming for you."

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind; Gandhi had said that, too.

But in this case, Michael hopes he'd understand.


	54. Dirt Nap

Dirt Nap

Michael's not sure how they find out, but as he and the others are continuing their construction on the tunnel, Sammy and his gang locate them and demand to be part of the team. Sammy tells Michael he'll be taking everything- the tunnel, the escape route, and the plan- and will make sure that Whistler gets out as well, but he guarantees a slow and painful death for Michael. It doesn't seem to faze him even though the other occupants of the underground tunnel appear to be worried about him. Michael points out the way to go and Sammy climbs. He pushes himself upward, towards the land on the other side, before there's a rumbling sound and the entire tunnel, hundreds of pounds of dirt, fall on top of him.

Lechero does his part to pick off the other members of Sammy's gang and Michael remains stone-faced. He let Sammy climb to his death; he watched him _die_, and still, Michael goes on like nothing had happened. They return upstairs, to their cells, and T-Bag informs him that Bellick is now part of the breakout team. Michael doesn't care; Michael doesn't care about much, these days. He sits in the corner of the cell, turning the cool metallic screw over and over in his hands as Alex enters and brings Whistler a cup of water and a rag to clean off his injuries. Michael conceals the screw in his hand and says nothing.

"You know, for all the times you wanted me to prove I was a fisherman," Whistler starts, turning to Michael who doesn't meet his eye. "I should have been asking if you were a real engineer. That could have been one of us buried down there."

"I'll do better next time," Michael deadpans.

Whistler stares back at him and there's a strong, surging tension between them. Alex, in order to diffuse the situation, states loudly, "I'm gonna go back down and try to salvage some of those braces."

Whistler, still glancing at Michael, says, "Yeah, I'll go with you."

He leaves the cell behind and Alex glances over at Michael, who has gone back to twisting and turning the screw over and over again in his palm. He and Alex think alike, Michael's realized, and it's the reason why he had been able to figure out Michael's every move weeks earlier, when he'd still been on the run. And when he looks at Alex, now, he knows that Alex knows Michael had removed the screw and allowed Sammy to die on purpose. But Alex, hardly one to judge, just looks back at Michael with a consonant understanding. He simply glances at the screw in Michael's hands and says, "Never gets any easier."

Michael's sure Alex is talking about the guilt and responsibility that comes with watching- and causing- someone's death, but even still, Sara consumes his thoughts. He's been an angry, vulnerable torrent of emotion since finding out about her death and he wonders if it will ever get easier, if he'll ever be himself again. Since her death, Michael had completely hardened, completely closed off. He's become all about breaking out of Sona, whatever the cost, because he wants nothing more than to find the person responsible for Sara's death and make them _pay_ for what they did to her, for what they did to _him_. He's not the Michael everyone else is used to; he's an empty shell of himself, living a half life, with only one goal in mind- revenge.

Sara meant the world to him and when he lost her, he lost _everything_.


	55. Under & Out

**Happy one-month anniversary to this little story! In celebration, I'll be giving you the end of season 3 today! Finally, am I right? I know, I'm just as ready to get out of this hell-hole of a season as you are! ;) ****And, in response to the guest reviewer, I saw the news about Wentworth too- I'm sure we all did. Personally, I'm glad he feels comfortable admitting the truth. I'm proud of him and still love him to death! :D**

* * *

Under & Out

Whistler is caught up and agitated and there's something else on his mind other than the breakout. He's worried about Sofia and Michael wishes he would focus on the task at hand and let Lincoln worry about Sofia, since there's nothing any of them can do about keeping her safe in here. He's hit with an enormous sense of déjà vu; just a week or so ago, he had been in the same position, worrying aimlessly about Sara and not being able to do anything about it. Michael knows he should be sympathetic with Whistler, but he can't be; he can't be sympathetic with anyone right now. He wants to keep moving, to get out of here, and Whistler studying the bird book as if it was the damn Bible is starting to piss him off.

"I figured them out," Whistler says. "The coordinates. I'm going to hand them over. I thought you should know so you can take whatever precautions you can."

Michael frowns. This had _not_ been part of the plan. "What if… What if you give them the wrong coordinates? It might buy us some more time. Maybe Linc can get Sofia to safety."

Whistler accuses, "Like he did with Sara?"

And suddenly it's fresh all over again; Whistler's only rubbing salt into the still-aching wound. If Lincoln had only gotten there sooner, if he had only been a bit quicker, he may have saved Sara's life. It isn't his fault, of course, and it's useless to think this way, anyway. Michael can tell Whistler regrets these words the moment they've left his mouth and the moment he sees the look on Michael's face, but it's too late and it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, anymore. He could break out of here and turn Whistler over and kill whoever it is that had murdered Sara, but it wouldn't matter, anyway. Sara's still gone and no matter what he does from this moment on, no matter what happens to him or how hard he tries to change fate, Sara isn't coming back to him.

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to," Whistler quickly backpedals and Michael glances to the floor to avoid his empathetic gaze. "I just don't know what else to do. I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't. There's no way to win."

"It's not about winning anymore," Michael deadpans. "It's about surviving, which is not the same as giving up."

"But you _can_ go gracefully," Whistler points out. "There's honor. Protecting the ones you love."

Michael shakes his head. "Honor's a luxury men like us can't afford."

And it seems his profound words have an effect on Whistler, because he doesn't give up the coordinates, and that night, they're on their way out of Sona for good.

* * *

Sara's been keeping everything she knows about Michael's arrest on little index cards she's borrowed from the front desk. It took her days to learn that he's been placed in Sona, days of calls to the police station he was originally brought to and endless transfers to the American Consulate that ultimately got her nowhere. Sara's been hiding out at this little bed and breakfast for over a week now, too afraid to go anywhere else and lacking enough information to locate Lincoln and Michael. She knows The Company must be looking for her and she's doing everything she can to stay anonymous. Now that she's finally found out which prison he's been placed in, she calls the American Consulate once more for information.

She's been told innumerous times that she should go home because there's nothing she can do for her friends and this phone call isn't any different. Still, Sara insists, "He's been wrongfully imprisoned, though, and I can't imagine the American Consulate would stand for that."

"_You have proof of this wrongful imprisonment?_"

"Of course, I was a witness at the scene," Sara bends the truth a bit. "It was self-defense; it wasn't murder."

"_I understand. Look, just tell me the name of the prison and I'll look up your friend's trial date_."

"Sona," Sara states. "And I'm not sure he's been assigned a trial date yet."

"… _Did you say Sona?_"

"Yes. Why?"

"_Miss, I'm not sure how to tell you this…_"

"Not sure how to tell me what?" Sara's heart begins to pound and whatever it is she had been expecting him to say, it isn't what eventually comes out of his mouth.

"_Sona burned to the ground two days ago._"

"Wh-what?" Sara exclaims, feeling bile rise in the back of her throat. She's going to be sick. "What are you talking about? What… What happened?"

"_We're still investigating, but it must've been a riot. That place wasn't under much control. There's nothing left but ashes_."

"What about…" Sara asks desperately, trying to find the words. _What about Michael?_ "What about the prisoners? What happened to them?"

"_As far as I know, they're all dead. Body count's up to almost two hundred and they're still finding them_."

Sara hangs up without another word and bends over the trashcan to vomit. Her mind fills with white noise and she feels like she's going to pass out. Michael is dead; Michael's _dead_ and it's all because of her. She can't breathe, she can't think, she can't even move. Their last conversation flashes to the forefront of her mind ("_Sara, I love you._") and when she realizes she'll never hear him say that again and she'll never get to say it back, she breaks down in heaving, guttural, heart-wrenching sobs.

Michael is dead and she's never going to see him again. She has to repeat this over and over again, despite the feeling of a thousand knives lacerating her heart, in order to fully understand that this actually happening. Sara feels empty and broken, desolate, somber and utterly devastated. She had loved Michael _so much_ and they had had very little time together; certainly not enough for her liking, not enough to satisfy her. She sobs and sobs until she can no longer make a sound and the innkeeper is asking her over and over in Spanish why she's sad, why she's crying so hard, why she's pouring her heart onto the floor. Sara has to get out of here; she can no longer stay in this awful country and wait for the people who took Michael from her to find her and kill her, too. She makes a collect call to Bruce immediately.

"_Sara? You sound awful. Are you alright?_"

"Bruce," Sara says, her voice hoarse and raw and empty. "I'm coming home."


	56. Hell or High Water

Hell or High Water

It's now or never; Michael watches as T-Bag, Bellick and Lechero escape through the tunnel and are captured within minutes. Everything is going exactly as planned, yet Alex and Whistler begin to complain that since the lights are on, the authorities will know they're escaping. Michael rolls his eyes and explains that yes, that is correct and yes, it's part of the plan. With the focus on Bellick, T-Bag and Lechero, the four of them could slide right out unnoticed. He should feel bad about selling out the other three, but T-Bag and Lechero are monsters and Bellick had exploited him every chance he could get back in Fox River, so Michael's not really into handing out his sympathy card.

It's a close call as they can hear police officers at the end of the hall, gaining closer and closer to learning of the hole. Michael crawls into the open air and from there, once Whistler, Alex and Luis have followed, they begin to barrel roll and army crawl from vehicle to vehicle, catching a few close calls but mostly staying unnoticed. Crawling carefully beneath the fence Sucre's eroded away for them, Michael and the other escapees take off into the night and begin to sprint through the jungle, leaving Sona behind. The sun rises and Whistler trips and falls, complaining of a sprained ankle, and Michael is sure it's all just a ploy he'd been planning all along. He doesn't fall for it and makes Alex drag him along.

There's no way he's staying behind, not when they've come this far.

They find Lincoln on the beach and he comments on how Michael's always picking up the strays, pointing to Luis. They don't have time for jokes; there are soldiers on their heels. Digging through the sand for the tanks doesn't take too long with five guys on the job, but there are only four tanks ("Sucks for you, Mahone," Lincoln tells the rogue FBI agent.), so with a haphazard comment about sharing with Lincoln, Michael takes off into the ocean, the others following suit. They hang onto the buoy and, honestly, Michael couldn't have anticipated the plan working out any better than it had.

That is, until Sucre doesn't show up with their boat. Luis's father rescues them from the water when Sucre does not and Michael is left wondering what's happened to him, because there's no way he'd let them down like that. But he'll have time to locate Sucre later; his thoughts must now be on exchanging Whistler for Sofia and LJ so they can finally move on with their lives. Michael bids farewell to Luis at the dock; he considers him the Tweener of Sona, except he'd been able to save this one. He's hoping Luis will manage to stay out of trouble and climbs into the vehicle Lincoln's obtained to ride into the city.

Gretchen calls the moment they reach the exchange point and Lincoln gives her the new whereabouts, threatening that he now calls the shots as long as he's got Whistler. Speaking of the devil, Whistler is still limping about and muttering about how they're all going to die the moment he's turned over to The Company. It's a bit of a downer, actually. But Michael doesn't have time to put him in his place. He sees Lincoln standing by the great window in the warehouse and walks over to him, wanting to apologize for his awful mood and his even worse behavior towards his brother these past few days. He'd been in a dark place, and perhaps he still is, but even still, Michael knows his brother didn't deserve to be treated as if he was the prime source of Michael's suffering.

"You know, Linc," Michael opens. "You did great."

"Thanks," Lincoln says appreciatively. "I just want LJ back, you know?"

_I want Sara back_, he thinks, but he doesn't say it. Instead, Michael assures his brother. "It's just a matter of time."

"Yeah," Lincoln replies unconvinced and Alex breaks up their conversation to say he's leaving them behind.

And Lincoln grows angry, angrier than Michael has seen him in a while, and cocks the gun in Alex's face. But before anything can occur, there's a sound of breaking glass and Whistler escapes.

Just like that, it becomes another game of cat and mouse.


	57. The Art of the Deal

**We finally made it- the end of season 3! Of course, this only means season 4 is going to begin soon and therefore, this story's almost done. But fear not, friends! There's plenty of story left to tell. ;) Thank you so, so incredibly much for the amazing feedback you're giving me! I don't know if you understand just how much it means to me. Please keep it coming and please enjoy!**

* * *

The Art of the Deal

There's a numbness in Sara's veins that she hasn't felt since she stopped using. She hasn't been able to think of anything but Michael since she arrived home; seemingly everything reminds her of him and no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to draw her mind away. Conversations they'd shared replay over and over when she lies sleeplessly in bed every night. She feels the ghost of his fingers curling around her own or entwining themselves in her hair, but each time she looks, he's never there. She does what she can to stop remembering the way his arms feel wrapped tightly around her torso, but each time she does, she feels like she'll implode.

Sara can tell Bruce is worried about her. She isn't eating much and she's barely sleeping and he hadn't known she would end up this way. She can't do anything but wait for the pain to stop- she refuses to turn to substance abuse, this time- but everyday, she remembers something else they'll never be able to do and she's not sure the pain will ever fully go away. They'll never go on that first date he promised her. They'll never take a trip to Baja or Thailand or wherever else they feel compelled to go just because they can. They'll never have a _future_ because he doesn't have a future. He's never coming back to her; she'll never see him again.

It's something that she can't fathom, even now when she's so far away. She hadn't been able to save LJ, she certainly let Lincoln down and she'd sent Michael to his death. She'd failed everyone she's come to care about and she's left, now, completely alone. She's sure Bruce is sick of having her as a burden and wonders when he'll tell her she can no longer stay with him. She wonders what she'll do with her life now; she's free, technically, and there are no charges against her anymore. But she doesn't feel free; her mind and soul are still captives of The Company, simply because they had taken her heart, shredded it and scattered the pieces all over the ground.

These invisible shackles are keeping her back, holding her down, and Sara isn't sure she'll ever feel like herself again.

* * *

"This is not the point of the exchange," Michael finds himself telling Gretchen once they've located and recaptured Whistler. "This is just a confirmation that everybody's still alive."

"They're alive!" Gretchen sneers impatiently. "Let's trade!"

"You'll get a call in five minutes telling you where to go next," Michael insists. "And when the exchange is over and LJ is safe, you and I are going to spend some quality time."

"When the exchange is over," Gretchen smiles wickedly. "You better run for your life."

He doesn't have to; Michael schedules the exchange point at the museum of antiquities, a place chock full of witnesses and impossible angles at which to kill them. Gretchen is unbelievably angry with him and this pleases Michael greatly. They trade LJ for Whistler and Lincoln hugs his son so tightly, Michael's not sure the teenager can breathe. Gretchen doesn't have time for niceties; Michael can tell she's waiting for them to step outdoors so she can signal to her sharpshooters and have them all killed. But he's thought around that; he smashes his fist into the glass display beside him and the entire museum erupts in pandemonium when the alarm sounds. They're all walking out of here together.

Of course, this doesn't mean that things stay calm and cool and collected. The moment they're outside, shots are fired and civilians shout in terror and race about. Michael gets separated from Lincoln and LJ, but finds them momentarily when his brother screams for Sofia. He follows his line of vision; Sofia's been shot. An ambulance rushes her to the hospital, but they've got to get out of there _now_ before the police show up and they're arrested once more. LJ stays with her and they meet behind the hospital for news of her condition. When he appears from the heavy doors, LJ's face doesn't have an ounce of grief, so they know, with relief, that Sofia is fine.

"She's going to be okay," LJ announces with a smile and Lincoln nods.

"Good."

LJ then turns to Michael, his happy face melting into one of sorrow instead. "Uncle Mike, I wanted to wait until we were safe to do this…"

Michael watches with horror as LJ pulls something from his pocket. It's the origami rose he'd made Sara for her birthday, a bit more weathered now than he'd last seen it, and, if possible, his heart breaks all over again. "I found this in the room where Sara and I were held. I thought you might want to have it."

"_Thank you for trying to make me smile. Not today."_

"_You never know."_

LJ's visage holds a terrible sadness. "I'm sorry."

Michael nods and pats his nephew on the shoulder, uttering quietly, "Thanks."

And that's that; at least, until LJ mentions that Sofia has a briefcase pertaining to Whistler underneath her bed. They head to her apartment and Michael unlocks the case with an animalistic fury his brother and nephew had never seen before. Lincoln, in an effort to stop him, says, "Whoa, slow down Michael."

"If I get to Whistler, I get to Gretchen."

"No, no, no," Lincoln disagrees. "Michael, this is the one chance you, me and LJ have of-"

"They killed Sara, Linc!" Michael exclaims and Lincoln sighs.

"I'm sorry about that."

"I know," Michael replies.

"Listen," Lincoln assures his brother. "I did everything I could, man. Everything."

"I know you did," Michael nods his understanding. "But I've got to go."

Lincoln hands his brother the keys and pulls him into a hug. It's what he needs, Michael knows, but he doesn't have too much time to get caught up in emotion. He gets behind the wheel and begins to drive. Where he'll stop, he doesn't know; but he's going to find Gretchen and he's going to kill her. Of those two things, he is certain.

Alex had once told him the one difference between them is that Michael couldn't kill, that he didn't have it in him, but that's not true.

He just hadn't yet, then, found the right motive.

The gun and the rose wait beside him like accomplices. He's found one, now.


	58. Scylla

**Hi everyone! I had planned on updating earlier with this one, but I moved back into my apartment at school today (senior year of college, woo!) and things, as you might expect, got a little hectic. I'm so overwhelmed by all I have to unpack that I've just left everything on the floor in my room and dug out my laptop to get this out to you haha. It's more important to me :P So we're on to season 4 and one of my favorite episodes- "Scylla." Before you ask, no, I did not write the sex scene. That's not my style; use your imaginations. ;)  
**

* * *

Scylla

It takes Michael less than a month to track Whistler and Gretchen down at some ritzy party in Los Angeles. Gretchen is nowhere to be found, but, if you want a dog to fetch, throw him a bone. He follows Whistler upstairs and watches as he plugs a small, phone-shaped device into his briefcase, delighting as it lights up with a million colors. Michael appears, holding Whistler at gunpoint and demanding to see Gretchen, but he doesn't have to wait long before she comes stomping up the stairs angrily and barging into the room, indignantly wondering what is possibly taking Whistler so long. If she's surprised to see Michael, she doesn't show it; her face remains with that uninterested look she always has whenever she's dealing with him.

"You know, despite everything, if Sara could weigh in right now, she'd tell me not to kill you," Michael tells her, his heart still bleeding despite the time that's passed for it to heal. "That's the kind of person she was. That's the kind of person you took from me."

"James, didn't you tell him?"

"How could I? You walked in five minutes-"

"Shut up!" Michael shouts. "Gretchen, look at me. This is for Sara."

Just as he's about to pull the trigger, she admits, "I never killed Sara."

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to take this with dignity," Michael grumbles.

"I swear to God," Gretchen insists. "She's _alive_."

"Don't insult me," Michael stands with his gun still pressed firmly against her forehead, unwavering. "And don't insult her."

"She escaped. We knew if you found out, we wouldn't have any leverage," Gretchen says. "I fabricated the whole thing."

Michael refuses to believe it. "My brother saw-"

"A head in a box! From a cadaver!" Gretchen shouts back. "You ask Lincoln what he _really_ saw."

"Listen to her, Michael," Whistler puts in.

The tiniest glimmer of hope begins to grow inside him. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Lincoln bought it, you bought it, it worked!"

"Then where is she?" Michael asks cautiously.

"I'll tell you when we get outside. Right now we need to get out of here!"

Sirens sound in the distance and Whistler says, "They found the bodies."

"Where is she?" Michael repeats. "Where's Sara?!"

But he doesn't find out because Whistler holds him at gunpoint and he's forced to surrender and then there's pandemonium downstairs. Somehow, he loses Gretchen and Whistler in the crowd, but he's left with the small piece of hope that Gretchen had just given him. It's a long shot and could very much be her leading him off a cliff, but maybe, just maybe, she's telling the truth. Maybe Sara's out there, somewhere, and if she is, he's going to find her. He calls Lincoln to tell him of this plan and he seems to think his brother's gone insane. Then again, he _was_ the one who had seen the head in the box. But even still, it had been a dark basement; surely his eyes could have been playing a trick on him.

He finds Alex at Santa Monica pier and he informs Michael that Gretchen's dead. He can't say he's surprised or saddened by this news. But everything that comes out of his mouth has nothing to do with Sara and he's getting agitated. They meet up with Whistler, who informs Michael that he and Alex are working against The Company (he doesn't care) and that Sara bought a bus ticket to Chicago recently (_that_ piques his interest) before he ends up with a bullet to the brain and Michael and Alex are scrambling to get to a safer location. For Michael, this location is Chicago and the moment he gets there, he phones up the only person he can think of- Bruce Bennett. But before he can get any kind of information from him, he's taken into custody.

Michael is introduced to a man named Donald Self from Homeland Security who bullshits him a story about saving the world and taking down The Company. He doesn't give a shit about The Company right now. He'd been so close to finding out _something_ about Sara and that's all he cares about. Lincoln arrives moments later and the two agree not to take Self's deal. Miraculously, he enters again, however, to announce that an astounding amount of bail has just been placed and when they meet, apprehensively at first, with their mysterious donor, it turns out to be Bruce Bennett. Michael smiles gratefully at him and Bruce suggests they take a drive. So they do; Michael drums his fingers anxiously on his leg as Bruce takes them to a house at the back of his neighborhood. He points to the door and Michael walks through, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline. But nothing could have prepared him for who was behind the door.

Sara Tancredi is staring back at him as though she's just seen a ghost and Michael knows the feeling, because the same look must be mirrored on his own face.

They're drawn to each other like magnets; Michael moves slowly and so does she and the instant they're close enough he wraps his arms around her as if she's air and he's drowning, their bodies melding together instantly like the perfect fit that they are. She's clinging to him fiercely and Michael's astounded and endlessly relieved and is thanking the fates over and over for returning her to him. Days upon days he spent lamenting the loss of her and today, today he will learn to live again; today he is reborn. Words are not enough to explain how grateful he is to have her in his arms again and they're certainly not enough to explain how he's feeling right now. He pulls back a moment, brushes the silken hair away from her face and notes the glistening tears in her eyes. He's running his fingers over every part of her, committing her to memory, making sure she is unharmed, before he pulls her face to his and kisses her. It's gentle and it's simple and it's what they've wanted for so long. Michael never thought he'd be able to do this ever again.

They remain in constant physical contact the rest of the afternoon. Bruce leaves them the house for the evening and Lincoln suggests they order dinner. Michael and Sara couldn't care less about eating; they want to sit and talk and just _be_. They escape to the back bedroom and settle in. Michael cannot take his eyes off of her. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Sara stills and he can tell she had been thinking the same thing. He doesn't want to bring her any more pain; instead, he leans forward and kisses her and he's sure he could do this the rest of his life and never grow tired of it. And that's what he wants, he realizes now. The Company had taken her away and Michael's future had been bleak, obscure, unsure. Fate had brought her back and now he knows that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her; he doesn't know what they'll be doing and he doesn't know where they'll be, but none of that matters to him as long as he's got Sara by his side. They've got a lot of time to make up for but hopefully this time they have all the time in the world.

"I have something for you," Michael says a moment later when they reluctantly pull away and scrambles off the bed towards his bag.

"Okay," Sara giggles a bit, watching him go.

He holds it behind his back for a moment; a surprise. "You left this behind."

She takes the rose as he settles in bed beside her. "Is that what this is about? You're just getting me my rose back?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm done now," Michael grins back. "I can retire."

And she smiles that million-dollar smile that makes Michael's heart soar. But there's something else on her mind and it doesn't take too long for the smile to fade and for her to bring it up. She clutches his hand in her own. "How much time are you looking at?"

"They're saying fifteen years," Michael sighs. "I have to find out for sure."

"I heard Lincoln say something about a deal?" Sara asks hopefully, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb.

"No jail time," Michael answers. "In exchange for taking down The Company."

She looks as perplexed as he was when he was first approached with the deal earlier that day. "How?"

"Exactly," Michael states and Sara frowns, resting her head against his shoulder. "I love you. That's all I know right now."

It's the only thing he's certain of and, as he bends to kiss her again, he's sure it's the only thing that will remain constant for the rest of his life.

* * *

All the anticipation had only made the passionate moment they'd just shared all the better. Somehow, it managed to be exactly as Sara had imagined it and light-years better at the same time. When they'd finished, the only thing Sara wanted was to lie there in each other's arms and simply just be together and, thankfully, Michael hadn't looked like he planned on letting go of her anytime soon. She loves him more than anyone she's ever loved in her life; the thought of losing him makes tears prick her eyes and Michael reaches up to gently cup her cheek and ask if she's alright. It's stupid, really; she's afraid of losing him and yet, she already has. She had somehow miraculously been led back to him and she should, instead, be focused on that. Sara tells him she loves him as a means of an answer; he repeats the sentiment and tells her that, had he not found her today, he would have _never_ stopped looking for her.

The thought makes her heart ache, but this time, in a good way.

It's clear to her that Michael hasn't slept in weeks, so it's not shocking when he falls asleep moments later. Sara's not that lucky; unable to sleep, she slips out of the room and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. She's lost in her thoughts and assuming all occupants of the house are asleep, so she's startled when the living room light flashes on and Lincoln pulls himself to a sitting position on the couch, calling after her, "Can't sleep either, huh?"

She jumps nearly out of her skin. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Lincoln says, standing and heading into the kitchen for a drink as well. "I guess if I'd been through what you have, I'd be freaked out, too."

"Actually, about that… um," Sara prefaces, glancing down at the floating ice in her glass. "Lincoln, I just want to apologize. When I… When I escaped that day, I did everything I could to look for LJ, but they'd separated us after you tried to rescue us and I had no idea where he was."

"Oh, Sara, please," Lincoln waves it off. "It's not your fault. I'm glad you got out of there. I don't blame you for anything."

She nods and then asks, "How is LJ?"

"Good. He's doing good," He answers. "He's glad to hear you're alive."

This makes her smile a bit. "He's a great kid."

"Thanks," Lincoln says. "It isn't because of me."

"I doubt that," Sara tells him.

She sips from her glass a moment and she can tell he wants to say something else, but is holding back. Eventually, he lets go. "That day Mike was arrested in Panama… I went looking for you. I saw you down the street, called out to you. But by the time I got to where you were, you were gone."

"I thought I heard you," Sara says. "But they captured me too fast."

"The next day, I um…" Lincoln continues. "I got a call saying they found someone matching your description at the morgue. I had to identify the body."

Sara's eyes widen. "I'm so sorry."

"It isn't your fault," Lincoln repeats, chuckling a bit though the situation hardly calls for it. "But after that and after… after Gretchen sent me the head-"

Sara's sharp intake of breath slices his sentence in half.

"- all I could think of is how… how _sick_ these people are, Sara," Lincoln says. "And I knew they were animals. They killed… They killed Veronica in cold blood. But I never thought they'd do something like this. And I didn't know how I was going to tell Michael, because it was going to _kill_ him. I dreaded it, I hid it, I kept it from him for a while. He was mad at me for it, when I did eventually tell him. But I had to because… Because…"

"Because he's my brother and I didn't want to put him through that," Lincoln finally finishes. "I knew it would crush him. He loves you _so_ much, Sara. You know that, right?"

Sara nods. "The feeling's mutual, believe me."

Lincoln smiles, saying, "I wasn't worried."

"After I escaped," Sara offers. "I tried to find you guys. They, uh… They told me Sona burned to the ground. I thought you guys were dead."

"Shit," Lincoln swears. "You were in the same boat."

"Yeah," Sara says, draining her water glass and placing in the sink. "Well… I'm going to go back to bed."

"Guess I should probably try to get some sleep, too," Lincoln sighs, crossing the room and sitting upon the couch again. To her retreating back, he calls, "Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Glad you're alright."

She smiles. "You, too."

Sara's glad she's had the conversation with Lincoln, but it's all become too much. Everything that had happened to her, everything that had happened to Michael and Lincoln, comes boiling over the surface. Sara sits upon the chair by the window, staring out into the night sky as she begins to panic, remembering the horrific nights spent in the dirty old shack with Gretchen. She's so consumed by her thoughts that she doesn't hear Michael shift in his sleep, awaken, and cross the room to check on her. When he lays his hands on her shoulders, she jumps nearly three feet in the air. It's too late to stop them; the tears of guilt and regret and sorrow have started and they aren't going to stop now.

"Hey," Michael says calmly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She clutches his hands helplessly with her own. "Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks calmly and Sara exhales slowly.

No, she absolutely does not want to talk about it. She doesn't want to relive it, mostly, but she also knows that if she did want to talk, she's not sure what she'd say. Instead, she lets go of his hands and leans forward, lifting her shirt in the process. There, in the glistening moonlight, is her exposed back, the skin that had once been bloody, oozing ribbons mostly healed now, but still leaving rough, uneven ridges and greenish-yellow scars. She feels Michael run a hand down her back before pulling her shirt back in place and when she glances up at him, his face is horrified and sorrowful and he looks as though he's going to be sick. It doesn't take a genius to realize Michael blames himself.

"It's not your fault," Sara immediately reassures him, pulling his arms back around her. "It's _not_."

"Tell me what happened," Michael demands, his voice hollow.

"It's just The Company," Sara cries. "It's just what they do. And it wasn't just me, God, it was you and LJ and Lincoln… And they won't stop. And I don't know how to deal with that."

"Come here," Michael pleads as her cries intensify. "Come here, come here."

He pulls her into a hug and it makes her feel better for less than a second, because in the blink of an eye, their safe sanctuary turns into the scene of a crime. Glass explodes from the window before them and they dive to the floor, Michael covering her body with his own. Lincoln is there in a second, ushering them out and they follow blindly, sprinting through the night into the abandoned garage. In a second, Michael and Lincoln decide to take Self's deal and Michael tells her he is _not_ leaving her behind, not this time. Self, of course, is pleased and in order to keep incognito while in L.A., he sends Michael for the intensive laser removal of his glorious tattoo.

The next morning, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and there isn't a cloud in the sky. They're walking across the runway towards a giant jet plane when Sara notices Michael is fidgeting with his jacket, attempting to cover his scorched skin. She asks, "How do you feel?"

"Lighter, somehow," He tells her and then slows his steps. "Look, I don't know how we're going to take them down. I don't even know who _they_ are, but I do know one thing."

Sara turns to look at him and there's a fierce determination in his eyes she's never seen before. He states, "The Company's going to _pay_ for what they did to you."

"Let's go!" A voice yells from the plane and Sara's ready to end this but not ready to go at the same time.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Michael asks tenderly and Sara wants nothing more than to say no and to run away and hide with him forever.

She knows she can't. "If we can do it together… Then, yeah."

"Okay."

"Absolutely."

They board the rumbling jet and head off to Los Angeles. The entire ride, no one speaks a word.

Sara clutches Michael's hand and doesn't let go.


	59. Breaking & Entering

Breaking & Entering

They're told to live in a warehouse. Wait; let's repeat this for the audience- they're going to _live_ in a _warehouse_. They are certainly living the high life, Sara thinks sarcastically. Nothing but the best for a rag-tag bunch of convicts avoiding jail time. She glances around at the group of men she'll be living with for God knows how long and sighs. It's going to be a _long_ couple of weeks. She'll keep to herself as best she can and be a contributing member to the group just as long as she can have a moment to herself once in a while. She's doing this for Michael, she keeps telling herself. She's doing this so she and Michael can finally move on and have the life together they'd planned.

"Since I was here first, I think I'll just grab that SS Bedroom if that's cool," Roland tells them making his way towards the boat.

Michael stands directly in front of him and stares him down. When he turns to look at her, his look softens. "Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"You take the boat."

She nods and ignores Roland's signatory glance between the two. Alex begins talking about how he can find the first cardholder and, already, it's too much. Sara waits until they're all focused on the task at hand to slip outside and walk down towards the docks. Watching the ships sail in and the freighters unload, Sara feels a bit more at peace than she previously had. But as she begins to make the trek back inside, there's a pile of driftwood stacked behind the warehouse. It's calling to her and she's remembering the terrifying nights held in captivity, feeling the cracking whip slice into her tender skin, and all the while wishing for the sweet release of death.

Sara's overcome with a surge of anger, then, and she picks up a piece of plywood and smashes it against another. It feels good; she does it again. She sees Gretchen snatch LJ from her, hold a knife against her throat, punch her in the mouth, shoot a woman right in front of her all over again and kicks a pile of wood, destroying it into sawdust. Sara smashes glass and pushes over piles of spare wood and kicks the wall over and over and over again until there's nothing left but a mess of jagged wood and broken glass. She's heaving and crying and breathing heavily but it had felt _so damn good_ to get all of her anger out somewhere. She stays out until she calms herself down, until it no longer looks like she's been crying and you can no longer smell the wood (_the defeat, the tragedy_) on her hands. The sun begins to set and when Sara reenters the warehouse, no one had even noticed she'd left.

Except for Michael, of course. He glances over at her in concern and she smiles genuinely in return, telling him, wordlessly, that she's fine. They come up with an elaborate plan to break into Stuart Tuxhorn's home the next morning in order to receive Scylla. It's pretty good, but of course it is; it came from Michael's brain. Sara spends that night looking over the bit of writing found in Aldo Burrows's briefcase and is so engrossed she almost doesn't notice as Michael climbs the stairs to the boat. "Hey."

"Hi," She smiles at him and he motions towards the slip of paper in her hands.

"What are you reading?"

"'There is no fighting her. No power can fight her. All that avails is flight.' That's Homer," Sara points out. "It's from The Odyssey."

"This is from my father's file?" Michael asks and Sara nods.

"Yeah and it explains why Scylla sounded so familiar," She explains. "If I'm not mistaken, it's from that chapter where Odysseus is told he has to confront a monster known as Scylla."

"I wonder why he wrote this down," Michael comments.

Sara suggests, "I could be wrong, but I believe that Odysseus is told that in order to continue on his path and get past Scylla, it requires the sacrifice of six of his men. His only other alternative is to abandon his path and… he chooses to make the sacrifice."

"Well that's a hell of a choice," Michael says. "One I'm not sure I'm comfortable making."

Sara begins to gather her things and Michael then states, "Sara, about tomorrow. The plan, the housekeeper… If you're not up to it-"

"Yeah, no, I am," Sara tells him and she's sure she's said it much too fast to be considered convincing.

He follows her into the boat's lower deck. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," She says and throws a smile in there for good measure.

He eyes her cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired," Sara answers, color staining her cheeks as she adds, "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

Michael chuckles. "It _is_ getting late. You should get some rest."

"Only if you join me," Sara says and he smirks.

"How would that help you get any sleep?" He teases and she grins.

"Oh come on," Sara tells him. "You didn't actually think you were sleeping up in the bunks with the rest of them, did you?"

He holds up his hands in defense, ever the gentleman. "Hey, I didn't want to assume anything."

"I just got you back, Scofield," Sara bemuses. "You're not leaving me ever again."

"I'm not going to argue with that," Michael says. "Just let me wrap up downstairs. I'll be right up."

"Okay," She tells him and readies herself for bed.

Moments later, Sara hears him enter the room and slip into bed beside her. He curls himself around her, wrapping an arm around her torso and whispering that he loves her. She tells him she loves him, too, and lays a warm, comforting hand on the arm around her, completing the circle.

That night, Sara sleeps soundly for the first time in months.

* * *

At first, Michael's sure it's a dream. He's afraid he's going to wake up and find that he's still back in Sona, that Sara's dead after all and that there's nothing he can do about it. But as sunlight begins to awaken him and he hears the sounds of the others moving about in the warehouse, Michael smells that distinctive combination of coconuts and the ocean and realizes she's really here. Sara shifts in his arms a little but she's still blissfully asleep and looking utterly peaceful and by God if she's not the most beautiful thing he's ever seen then he doesn't know what is. He knows they have to get moving and yearns for the day when they'll be able to sleep in and laze around in bed all day. Today, unfortunately, is not that day.

There are, of course, a few setbacks in their plan. There seem to always be setbacks, but these are minor enough to fix and build around and go off of. Sara does her part and inserts the device into the housekeeper's purse, but Bellick and Mahone have a setback when they can no longer find the device from within. They realize the maid has left it inside and must, therefore, pull a break-in to steal it back. They do so without fail; they set the alarm off in the house across the street which makes for an excellent diversion. Once they're back inside the safety of the warehouse, everyone is ready to celebrate. They're halfway there, halfway done. It only took them two days; they should be set free by the end of the week.

"What are you going to do when all of this is over?" Sucre asks Michael once they've settled in.

Michael's line of vision trails over to Sara, who's headed out to the docks once again. He smiles. "That's a good question."

Sucre seems to understand. He allows Michael to leave the conversation and the latter follows Sara out onto the docks. She's watching the ships pass and there's tension in her shoulders. He wants to talk about Panama in order to ease her mind, but he knows she'll talk when she's good and ready. He can't push her into it; he won't. He comes to stand beside her and can tell where her thoughts have been. Even still, he won't pressure her. "Sara, I was going to come down here and see if you wanted to talk some more about what happened in Panama. But, I think I already know what you're going to say."

She smiles slightly. "How's that?"

"Because you're a little like me," He tells her. "Because you're going to say you're fine, that you can handle it."

She laughs a bit. He says seriously, "So I'll just leave it at this. I'm here. Whenever you want to talk; I'm here."

"Thank you," Sara nods and as he's about to walk away, to give her the time alone she's desperately craving, she calls back to him. "You know, the only thing that kept me alive while I was being held was the thought of being with you. But I also knew that if anything happened to me you were going to blame yourself and you would spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for it and… I can't _bear_ the thought of that."

Michael frowns. She had always been able to read him like a book; she hasn't lost her touch. "So can we make a deal right now that we're even? And just wipe the slate clean and no guilt and no responsibility… If we're going to be together, I don't want it to be out of a sense of obligation or even that we should be because of what we've been through…"

"I just want to start over," She says after a deep breath and he nods his understanding. It seems logical to him.

"Start over. Okay," Michael agrees. "But, uh… Does that mean I have to divorce my wife?"

The dawning realization hits Sara and she laughs. It's what he'd been hoping for. "Because you're still married to a Russian stripper."

"Well A), I've been a little busy," Michael lists, grinning. "And B), I'm pretty sure she was Czech."

She's still laughing. "Does the nationality really make a difference? You are still technically married."

"Well I will get on that right away," Michael promises. "I wouldn't want to give you the wrong idea."

"About what?" Sara asks, smiling. "Adultery?"

"Hey," He teases. "Gotta keep my reputation squeaky clean, here."

"I think the prison sentences ruined that for you," Sara replies.

Michael shakes his head. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't, huh?"

She sighs complacently. "Yeah."

Michael glances out towards the ships. "So… halfway there. Sucre was just asking what we're going to do when this is all over."

Sara eyes him. "What _are_ you going to do when this is all over?"

"I don't know," He says honestly. "Buy a boat, sail the globe. Teach you there's a whole world out there besides Chicago, Illinois. If that's what you want, anyway."

"Of course it's what I want," Sara grins. "Tell me more. What else awaits us at the end of this long tunnel, Scofield?"

Michael thinks a moment. "We'll settle down, teach our eight kids how to sail and fish-"

"Whoa, pause," Sara protests. "Eight kids?"

"You don't want children?"

"I don't want eight of them."

"Alright, five kids," Michael corrects and upon catching Sara shaking her head, he changes it again. "Three kids?"

"That's better," She tells him.

"Then we'll get a dog-"

"What's a dog going to do on a boat in the middle of the ocean?" Sara chuckles and Michael grins.

"_Every_ kid's got to have a dog, Sara."

She rolls her eyes but she's laughing and he's grinning and the game is just starting to get interesting when Lincoln interrupts them. "Michael…"

"What's wrong?"

"Whatever it is," Lincoln shakes his head. "It ain't it."

"I don't understand," Michael says. "I thought you said we copied the card."

"No, we did," Roland explains. "But according to the encryption code… Okay, how do I make this clear? If Scylla was like a pizza, all we got's a slice."

Michael, Sara and Lincoln follow Roland back to the computer and watch as he explains how there's a significant amount of data missing from whatever this device holds. Sara points out that in The Odyssey, Scylla is a six-headed monster and suddenly, it becomes clear and Michael wonders why he hasn't yet figured this out. Scylla isn't just one card- it's _six_. There's a stabbing pain behind his eyes and Michael heads to the bathroom to have a quiet moment and let his headache subside. But it doesn't; it only intensifies. The pain is so great, he begins seeing double and has to tuck his head down in order to steady himself.

When he glances up again, he sees a steady stream of blood running from his nose.

But no, he'll be fine, because he just promised Sara an entire lifetime of events that he doesn't intend on missing out on.

He ignores the pain, ignores the nosebleed, and presses on.


	60. Shut Down

Shut Down

Scylla isn't just one card; it's _six_. Just when Sara had believed it was almost over, suddenly they're thrown for another loop- another _five_ loops. The anger brimming in Michael's eyes is unlike anything she'd ever seen before and she steers clear of him as he heads out most likely to scream at Self about it. She stays behind as the others react to the news; Lincoln is just as pissed ("Un-_fucking_-believable. Well Self can find a new team to find the rest of the cards because there's no way in _hell_ I'm doing it.") and Bellick is antsy and nervous ("Well what does that mean? We have to find the others? How do we know where to look? Where do we start? What happens if we never find them? What does it _mean_?"). Roland looks indifferent; Sara's sure this news has had no effect on him. Sucre is muttering in irritated Spanish and Alex… well. He's been acting strangely ever since they'd arrived yesterday, anyway.

When Michael returns he looks just as angry, but now determined as hell to find the rest of the cards. He tells whoever doesn't like it to call Self and have him arrange their cell. Roland brings up the information they've collected from Tuxhorn's PDA and when Michael asks about his personal calendar, Sara tries not to be disgusted when Roland replies, "Dr. Feel-Good's got it." There aren't any details by today's date but a single star; it must mean something, but they can't quite figure it out. Bellick says something, then, and Sara can't even begin to process it before Michael is shouting at him and telling to either say something useful or not to say anything at all. He's incredibly stressed and she understands that, but the situation is not as stressful as he's making it out to be. Clearly, there's something else going on.

She finds him in the makeshift kitchen, absentmindedly washing his hands and staring out the window. "Hey."

Her voice seems to snap him out of his reverie, because he adjusts the water tap, dries his hands and attempts to cover the stress with a smile. "Hey."

"So listen, I know in Fox River you had to keep secrets from me," Sara begins. "You don't now. What's going on?"

"Self said we have until the end of the day to find the next cardholder," Michael tells her hesitantly, as if he's trying to spare her the stress that's clearly killing him. "Or we all go back to prison."

There's the clincher; she knew there was more. She tries to imagine the authorities barging in with Don Self leading the cavalry and arresting all of them and realizes it's all too likely; they _must_ get to work. It doesn't take long for them to crack the coded email messages, thanks to Alex's keen eye and former FBI work, and soon, they're headed to Anaheim. Michael decides to keep the ultimatum Self's given them to himself, but Sara can't say she's pleased to hear the news. It's Lincoln's idea to send her into the server building and pretend to be a job candidate and as he's briefing her on what to do and say, Michael reaches over and stills the hand she'd been drumming on her knee apprehensively. She hadn't even known she'd been doing so. He gives her a reassuring smile and she feels instantly better.

There's something about Michael that makes her feel like they can accomplish today's impossible feat; that, somehow, together they can do anything.

* * *

It happens in the blink of an eye. One minute, Alex is pinning Roland to the table and shouting about not badmouthing those who've died (there's clearly something under the surface there, but Michael hasn't had the chance to look) and they're still trying to figure out the location of the Scylla meeting. The next, the entire computer system locks, they can't access any of the files they've already copied and they receive a text from Sucre telling them to run. They're coming after them, they've shut them down; they begin to run towards the vehicle, intent on leaving the warehouse far behind, and Michael calls out for Sara to be sure she's understood the gravity of the situation. He's relieved to find she's right behind him. They climb into the backseat as Alex and Lincoln take the front and they're off.

There's a car waiting for them the moment they depart the warehouse. Self calls to tell Michael the project's been terminated, but Michael's adamant that they can still get the job done. He tells Lincoln to lose their follower and his brother obeys, accelerating up to dangerous speeds and weaving in and out of traffic and around tight corners with a strange expertise. It seems as though they are in fact going to lose Self; that is, until an 18-wheeler pulls out in front of them and they're forced to stop short or lose their lives. They scramble out of the car, race around the bend and spot an abandoned train station that blocks the signals given off by their ankle monitors. Michael pulls out the ads, determined to find the hidden meaning, and Lincoln tells him its useless; they're going to prison, anyway.

Just then, the awful stabbing pain in his forehead overcomes him once more. He swipes his finger under his nose to check for blood and is pleased when it comes back dry. His vision blurs a moment before going clear, but the pain remains. Sara notices despite his attempt to hide it from her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," He breathes nonchalantly.

"We're going to figure this out," Sara says, showing a determination he wishes he could still feel. "We're getting good at pulling off the impossible. Hell, I came back from the dead, right?"

Two posters on the wall before him are hanging back-to-back, one a bit torn and weathered so the other shines through. It's then that he sees it. Sara clearly doesn't, because she asks, then, "What is it? What do you see?"

He places the two ads they'd obtained from Tuxhorn's PDA on top of one another and it all clicks. "They go over each other."

A rusty nail scratches out the holes in the constellations and suddenly, they have a location. There's a power plant in Newport Beach, Alex informs them and then, of course, they're running again. Just as they're getting closer, a speeding car separates him and Sara from Lincoln and Alex. There isn't time to see if they've gotten out safely; they _must_ keep moving. They dart in the opposite direction, but the authorities are gaining on them and there's really only one thing they can do to stop them from advancing. Sara tells him to go and he feels awful for allowing her to once again sacrificing herself for him, but if this really is a meeting about Scylla, then it will, hopefully, be worth it.

Creeping around the turbines, Michael has the perfect viewing spot for the meeting at hand. He can see Tuxhorn speaking with an elderly bald man with a sour expression, but it isn't long before four other people- three men and a woman- join the conversation in sleek town cars. He's not leaving without some sort of evidence; he slips out the little flip phone Self had given him and gets the entire meeting on video. It's pretty far away and comes out grainy, but it will hopefully be enough. Satisfied, Michael heads back to the warehouse, the sun sinking lower and lower into the horizon in the distance, and shows Self that he now knows each and every one of the cardholders. The project is back on in a matter of seconds. Michael watches as Self releases the others from the van and glances over to the warehouse to find Sara packed and ready to leave. She pauses upon sight of him and he crosses the pavement towards her, wanting nothing more after their day's activities than to just sit and relax and have a quiet moment with her.

"Someday soon," Michael promises, gripping her hands in his own. "We're going to drop that little boat of yours in the water and disappear forever. I promise."

She bends his head forward, kisses the very top, and asks, "How's tomorrow sound to you? I've got to do some research on these other five cards in the morning, but I'm pretty sure my afternoon's free."

Michael grins and comes to stand beside her. "I wish."

They head back into the warehouse to do some more work; back to the old grind so long as the project's back on. Alex leaves almost as soon as he reenters and Michael takes notice that the only person who doesn't give this situation a second glance is his brother. He takes the opportunity to ask what's wrong and learns that The Company has murdered Cameron Mahone, Alex's five-year-old son. Michael can't help but feel like he's responsible somehow. The night winds down and everyone's exhausted from the chase and the running. At one point, Michael glances up to realize he's the only one still working; Sucre's nodded off in his chair at the table, but otherwise, everyone else has somehow slipped off to bed. If they can give in, so can he; he decides to call it quits for the night, too.

Sara is lying so incredibly still he's sure she's fast asleep, so he slips carefully and silently into bed, determined not to wake her. Merely seconds later, her voice startles him. "Do you realize how incredibly close we all came to being arrested today?"

"I thought you were asleep," Michael comments and as his eyes start to adjust to the darkness, he realizes she's wide-awake and looking right at him. "And you wouldn't have been arrested. They don't have any charges on you."

"I _can't_ sleep; this is all I've been thinking about," Sara sighs. "And that doesn't matter; _you_ would've been arrested. You, Fernando, Lincoln… You would all be in prison and I don't know where I would go, what I would do… They'd probably kill me."

Michael winces. "Don't talk like that."

"I'm serious," Sara insists. "They've been trying _so hard_ to kill me. With all of you in prison, you don't think they would succeed?"

"Sara," He says her name sharply, a warning. "I _couldn't_ go through that again. I honestly think a second time might kill me."

She's quiet a moment before inquiring, "Do you ever think that maybe this whole thing is a set-up? That maybe Self actually works for The Company and is just pissed off at whoever is calling the shots? Maybe we aren't stealing Scylla from The Company and giving it to the good guys but instead we're giving it right back to them, just in a different form."

Michael has to admire her for that; they've been thinking alike once more. "That has crossed my mind, yes. Believe me, it took everything I had to trust Self."

"I don't," Sara tells him. "Not after today."

He trails his fingers through the strands of her hair closest to him. "I don't blame you."

"Michael, I know I've told you this before, but that doesn't make it any less true," Sara muses. "I _really_ want this to be over."

"I do, too," He agrees. "And I wish I could tell you that we're almost done, but I don't know if that's true."

"You don't have to tell me it's almost done; I'd rather you didn't lie to me," Sara teases. "But I do want to know if you think this job is in the realm of possibility. I mean, do you _honestly_ think we can do this or is it just a hopeless case?"

"I think it's going to be difficult, but I have no doubt in my mind that we can pull it off," Michael tells her. "Roland's device should make it very easy to get the rest of the cards, provided the video I took tells us who they are. It's the breaking and entering part that is probably going to be a struggle."

"Two successful prison breaks under your belt and you're worried about a B&E?" Sara asks jokingly.

"By now I've proven I can break out," He grins. "But I don't know anything about breaking _in_."

She laughs. "I love you."

"I love you, too," is his easy reply. "So much."

They do, eventually, drift into an uneasy sleep; they've come so far, but they've got so far to go and they're trying desperately not to think of how much is at stake.


	61. Eagles & Angels

Eagles & Angels

They haven't been living together long, but Michael's picked up on enough of Sara's habits to know that when he can't seem to locate her in the warehouse, she's out on the docks. Sure enough, he finds her resting upon a sturdy pile of driftwood, eyes watching the boats sail off and, more likely than not, wishing she was aboard one. He debates with himself over whether or not to disturb her quiet moment and ends up deciding to do so, not sure she'll want company but hopeful all the same. He heads down the dock and comes to sit beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back to announce his presence instead of doing so with words. Michael can feel the sunlight warm against his palm and Sara is startled at first but then relaxes; she doesn't jump too much- she's healing.

"Hey," She greets him softly. "Did you get anything off the video?"

"It's a camera phone from fifty feet away, so it's pretty grainy," Michael tells her. "It's still printing."

She nods, her attention still captured by the sea. A small yacht named 'Last Dance' is sailing out of port and the name is tragically beautiful, bittersweet, much like their current situation. Michael asks, "You ever been on one of those?"

"Yeah. I was still drinking at the time, so I don't remember much," Sara says and laughs a bit, embarrassed. "I'm told I was a lot of fun. You?"

"No," He negates. "Not a lot of yachts where I'm from."

"I always kind of wanted to live on one," Sara tells him. "I thought it'd be nice to have the ocean as my front yard."

He matches her grin with one of his own. "The ocean _is_ your front yard!"

"Maybe," Sara sighs complacently. "But it's not exactly the house I'd envisioned for myself."

"Wall to wall concrete floors, vaulted ceilings, public bathroom stalls… This place is a dream," Michael jokes and Sara laughs. "And tell me you're not loving the colorful cast of characters?"

She chuckles. "I feel like I'm living in a fraternity. I'm still surprised our daily activities don't include wet t-shirt contests and tequila body shots."

It's his turn to laugh. "Do I even want to know?"

"Spring break in Miami," Sara informs him. "Everyone went. Didn't you?"

"Afraid not."

"Oh, you missed out."

"Clearly," He grins at her and she grins back; that wonderful, radiant smile he loves so incredibly much. "We'll have to make up for it when this is all over. We'll sail from here to Miami; you can teach me."

"Are we going to get a boat?" Sara inquires.

"We have one," Michael gestures back towards the warehouse. "What's wrong with the SS Minnow back there?"

"Nothing," Sara shakes her head, still grinning. "You really want to drop that thing in the water someday? Sail off to points unknown?"

"Yeah, why not?" Michael tells her honestly, glancing over to meet her gleaming hazel-green eyes. "As long as it's you and me."

"I like the sound of that," Sara says and before Michael can tell her that he does, too, Sucre calls from behind them, guiding them back in.

Michael stands, glances out toward the water, the open sea, the endless horizon, and then back at Sara, promising her, "One day."

And she looks disappointed and he wishes he didn't always have to be the one to break bad news to her, but in order to move on with their lives, this is how it has to be for now. Once inside, they peruse the findings from the tape; Lincoln informs them they've found a license plate and it has a strange insignia, a flag, resting beside it. Sara says it's a diplomatic plate and when they learn it's from the Turkish consulate and it belongs to a man named Erol Tabak, they're sure they have the next cardholder. As everyone prepares to head to the Turkish embassy to locate him, Sara tells Michael she's going to stay behind to work on the tape. He nods, sure she's ready for some time to work alone and in peace. Before he departs, however, she must be sure of their future.

"One day?"

Michael smiles back, confirming her thoughts. "One day."

It takes them less than twenty minutes to discover the Turkish consulate and locate Erol Tabak. He has a significant amount of security surrounding him, they notice, and try to get close enough that the card will copy over to Roland's device, but not so close that they'll be noticed and called out. One minute, the card is copying and the next, they no longer have a signal. It takes less than a second to realize that Erol Tabak isn't the cardholder; his wife _Lisa_ is. They've got to get closer and they're not going to get the card's data like this. Heading home defeated, it's back to the drawing board they go to form a new plan. Michael inquires after Sara the moment he's returned and Brad nods towards the boat. Of course, he isn't expecting to find out that Bruce Bennett has been found dead and this, understandably, has greatly upset her.

"Of course it's my fault he's dead," Sara says bitterly.

Michael disagrees. "That's not true."

"We both know it is," She spits angrily. "I shouldn't have called him. I knew that. I should have never reached out to him. I shouldn't have involved him in any of this-"

"Bennett chose to help you," Michael tells her gently, ending her hysterical rant. "The Company killed him, not you."

He's watching her breakdown and he isn't sure what to say to make her feel better. He's not sure she _can_ feel better; if you shatter a vase and glue it back together, it might be whole again, but it'll never be the _same_. "Listen to me, Sara, this is _not_ your fault. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

She shakes her head, still furious with herself, and he has to let her go. She has lost _so much_ and it never gets any easier.

There's only so much he can say before it all becomes redundant.

* * *

Sara needs to get out; it's becoming too much. For a while, she had thought she'd be okay. After all, Michael had turned out to be alive and they were pretty much living together (if you ignore the warehouse and the five other guys and the stress of finding Scylla cards) and she'd been, certainly, happier than she'd been in months. But the stress and the pressure and the feelings she'd been repressing over her situation in Panama are all getting to be too much and soon, she's craving only one thing. Without a word to Bellick and Roland, she's out the door and down the street, searching for the one place she has in mind. She knows she shouldn't- she's _always_ known better, though- but she's angry and upset and guilty and the three are a terrible combination.

She isn't sure how she ended up here, to be honest, but Sara finds herself at a dive-y looking pub close to home. She knows, especially now, that she should've told someone she was coming, but she can't risk the judgments, the ridicule and the questioning, not when she's already feeling as guilty as ever. The club soda isn't enough; it isn't long before she's ordering bourbon, ignoring the look on the bartender's face and demanding it despite her recovery. Before she knows it, the bartender is asking what could have happened that would lead her to this state and Sara is telling her the entire story behind the wonderful human being that was Bruce Bennett. She can vaguely hear a faint buzzing sound and is sure someone is trying to reach her (Michael's worried about her, she knows, but she's too ashamed of herself to pick up the phone). Sara doesn't answer; she's too busy wanting to drink and knowing she won't.

Swirling the bourbon around the glass a little, Sara shares, "When I was thirteen, I had to go see _Annie_- the musical. My mom had passed away earlier that year and my father agreed to take me. I was all ready in my new dress… And I knew every word of this thing. And then my dad called from work and said he wasn't going to make it… It wasn't the first time."

The bartender averts her eyes a moment and when she glances back, Sara can sense an unimaginable pity in her eyes. She wishes she could squash it, but by now, she's come to expect it. "And I remember feeling like I was floating. Like I was the only person in the whole world. And Bruce came. He showed up to take me and after, he took me home and he said that if I ever needed him, he'd be there for me."

"And a month ago, I needed him and I called him," Sara can barely swallow past the lump in her throat and feels the familiar burn and sting of tears welling in her eyes. "And he died for it."

Still clutching the bourbon, Sara begins to cry and once she lets herself give in, she can't stop. The bartender asks her, "What would he want you to do?"

Sara lifts the alcohol to her lips and pulls it away again, as if it's poison that'll surely kill her the moment it passes through her. "Let me do you a favor," the bartender offers and takes the glass from her, draining it in under a second.

She can't stop the tears from pouring down her face, now, so she excuses herself and heads for the bathroom. There's nothing she can do about Bruce's death; she couldn't have prevented it, she cannot bring him back. It's much like her father's; The Company had exhausted both men of their information and then disposed of them immediately. She doesn't have anyone left; this thought makes Sara panic and she begins to cry even harder. She rummages through her purse for a tissue and instead finds the origami rose Michael had made her all those lifetimes ago in Fox River (she takes it everywhere; she has to). Things had been much simpler, back then, and everyone had still been alive.

It doesn't take too long for her to realize she may not have anyone else, but at least she has him. Contrary to before, when she hadn't wanted to talk to him, now all she wants is to be by his side. She wants to feel needed and loved and protected; she wants to feel his arms wrap tightly around her and she wants him to tell her, even if it's a lie, that everything's going to be okay. Sara needs the reassurance, she needs the _hope_, right now. Once she's calmed herself down (_At least you still have Michael_, she tells herself over and over), she tucks the origami rose back into her purse and heads out of the bar. She makes sure to erase all evidence that suggests she'd been crying; she doesn't need him to worry any more than he already does. As she's halfway home, her cell phone rings again and this time, she picks up.

"Hi," She answers gently, gratefully, simply.

"_Hey. Are you alright?_"

She can sense the concern in his voice. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"_Well, I was worried. Where are you? Let me come get you._"

"No, it's okay. I'm almost home." Sara reassures him. There's more she wants to say, more she's realized today, and if she doesn't say it now, she never will. "Listen… You're what's keeping me going right now. You're all I have left and that scares me. I just want to be together."

"_I know the circumstances are a little less than ideal, but we _are_ together. You're here, I'm here… It's not one day, anymore. It's… It's today_."

And she has to give him that; it _is_ true, after all. For some reason, this lifts her spirits, just like she knew he would. Her arms twitch, as if she's going to reach out for him, but she realizes he isn't there and her heart gives a tug. He must realize this, too, because he then says, "_Well, why don't you come back and we'll make some dinner? Maybe find a little time for ourselves?_"

Sara grins; just the prospect of seeing him again makes her entire body hum with anticipation. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

And she has every intention of heading straight there. But there's a very tall, large black man on her tail and she's _sure_ he's a Company hit man, hired to take her out.

She begins to run and he follows and she thinks maybe, just _maybe_, she won't make it out of this alive.


	62. Safe & Sound

Safe & Sound

That familiar feeling of fear and danger and imminent death comes over Sara once more the moment she looks back to find the Company hit man running after her. With a premonition, Sara begins to sprint for her life and thinks that she has way too many near-death experiences for one person. He's gaining on her- for the large man that he is, he's incredibly agile- and she pushes herself even further ahead. There's a dead end- a great iron gate she can't run through. In a moment, she hops over the white fence beside her, half-skids down the dusty hill and darts into six lanes of oncoming traffic, sure she'll become a pancake in an instant, but knowing it's a much quicker and less gruesome and painful death than one from The Company.

Suddenly, the sound of a bellowing horn fills her ears and the moment Sara turns to face the sound, she's come face to face with an eighteen-wheeler. It's maybe five, six feet away at the most and it's beeping at her as the driver yells obscenities she can't make out. But the hit man is still behind her, so ignoring her better judgment and almost dying in the process, Sara continues to cross through the other five lanes, trying to pass through quickly and ignore the warnings from other drivers. She reaches the other side and blends in somewhat conspicuously before she realizes with relief she's finally lost him. As a precaution, still, Sara takes the long way home, heart racing with fear and eyes darting every which way in paranoia.

When she finally bursts through the doors of the warehouse, she's sure she looks like she'd just run a marathon. She can tell Michael's been worrying himself sick, because when she walks into the room, he looks as if the weight of the world's been removed from his shoulders. "Sara, what happened?"

"I'm fine, but someone was following me," Sara rushes out, gripping the arm he's just placed around her, as if he's checking her for damage. "I lost him about a mile back. I don't think there's any way he could've followed me here; I made sure of that."

Lincoln approaches and asks, "What did he look like?"

"Uh," Sara falters a moment even though she can still picture him looming behind her. "Tall, black, he had a beard-"

Before she can finish, Alex steps in with a glossy photograph of her stalker. "Is this the guy?"

"Yeah," Sara breathes, snatching the photo from him to get a closer look.

"Who's that?" Lincoln inquires.

"That's the man who killed my son," Alex states simply, leaving the scene.

Sara glances up in surprise; that's news to her. Michael looks from Alex's retreating form to Sara's paranoid one and says, "Now he's coming to kill us."

Before anyone can say another word, Sara follows Alex outside, wanting to offer him condolences or support or _something_; she hadn't known, honestly, that this is why he's been acting so strangely ever since they'd arrived here. But he knows she's followed and it takes him less than a minute to ask for her help. "Sara, I… I need to find this man. I need to get to him, so… I'm going to need your help."

She nods. "I understand."

"Where were you the first time that you saw him?" Alex asks. "The very first time."

"Walking," Sara answers easily.

"Did he just run into you on the street?" He wonders. "Where were you before that?"

She hesitates. Sara knows Alex knows about her troubled past and if she tells him she was at a bar, what would he say? Would he make fun of her for falling off the wagon even though she hadn't? Would he _pity_ her? She falters for words before saying, "The Town Lounge."

He doesn't look at all judgmental when he asks, "Is that a bar?"

But Sara still puts up the defensive. "You have a problem with that?"

"No," Alex shakes his head and she actually believes him. "I just want to know how long you were there. Sara, I need to find this guy and I can't do it without your help. I don't care why or what you were doing at the bar, I just want to know how long you were there."

"Okay," She exhales. "A couple hours."

"Something must've tipped him off," Alex frowns. "You paid cash, right?"

"Of course," Sara answers as if it's obvious. But then, she remembers- "But the credit card that Bruce gave me is gone."

There's a fire burning behind Alex's eyes and Sara _knows_ this will be enough to hopefully track this man down. He thanks her and bounds off and when she returns inside, Michael and the others are planning the next big heist. He shoots her a look that lasts too long and Sara knows their dinner and time to themselves will have to wait. It's okay; she wasn't expecting it anytime soon, anyway. But there's something about her conversation with Alex that leaves her feeling unsettled. He honestly hadn't cared that she'd been at the bar, but Sara knows that there is someone in this warehouse who most likely would. She's dreading his reaction, but she knows one thing's for sure.

She _has_ to tell Michael if she wants to keep any semblance of honesty in their relationship.

* * *

Despite the circumstances and barring all odds, breaking into the treasury department and copying Griffin Oren's card goes surprisingly well. They make a lot of noise and generate a _huge_ mess, but Michael's sure that in the end, it will all be worth the hassle. They've got three of the six now and they're halfway to the breaking and entering part; he hopes Sucre and Bellick have made some kind of progress with T-Bag and that whoever they talked to will call back with information as soon as possible, because going into this thing blindly is sure to have deadly consequences. If Whistler laid out all the plans to the break-in in this bird book, then they're going to need it. At this point, they need all the help they can get.

When they arrive back at the warehouse, Self makes some big show about being a part of the team that afternoon and not wanting to do it ever again. Lincoln tells him that if he expects the team to take part in all of these dangerous situations, Self should also expect to join in some time. This breaks into a full-fledged argument, but Michael can't be bothered, now. He's looking for Sara, because it's getting late and he's promised her dinner and alone time, two things they rarely ever have time for. He momentarily panics when he can't find her and has paranoid flashbacks to earlier this afternoon, but Bellick catches his eye and must read his mind, because he nods out towards the docks.

Sara hasn't used the afternoon for leisure; she has plenty of important information to share with him when he reaches her. "Apparently, billions in counterfeit currency flooded the economy, which is what caused it all. What I don't understand is why. I mean, so far all the cardholders have been experts in their fields, right? In energy and logistics and finance… I mean, it looks like they're just trying to tear the country down."

Michael nods his understanding. "So they can profit by rebuilding it."

"So the question is, what's next?" Sara wonders and Michael doesn't quite have an answer for that.

He wants to tell her about their happenings at the treasury department, but he's more interested in how she's doing emotionally, because when he'd left her this morning, she hadn't been taking Bruce's death well. Sara is an inconceivably strong and resilient woman, but _everyone_ reaches a breaking point, eventually, and it had only been a matter of time before she met hers. It's as if she can read his mind, because the next thing she says is, "I was at a bar earlier."

It is _not_ what he'd been expecting and his eyes snap to her face. She doesn't look at him and he can sense she feels ashamed. Sara assures him, "Nothing happened. I didn't drink."

Michael's heart aches and he wishes he'd been more observant of the signs of her uneasiness. He doesn't want to be the one to push her over the edge. "Look, if this is too much for you-"

"No, no," Sara is immediately and adamantly disagreeing, shaking her head. "No."

"Because say the word," He tells her genuinely. "And we'll scrap the whole thing."

"It's not going to happen again," Sara promises him and, he's sure, herself. "But it would be a lie not to tell you and I want you to know that I'll never lie to you. I'm sorry."

She has nothing to be sorry for; if anything, _he_ should be the one apologizing, because he hadn't noticed she was teetering on the edge and he hadn't made himself available enough for her to come to him. Michael can't help himself; he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to her lips and it must make her feel slightly better, because she does smile at him when they're through. He stands, then, and reaches out his hand, smiling back when she takes it, and they head back to the warehouse together, bracing themselves for the flurry of activity. Self has sent over the results from the image enhancement, which has left them with information on two of the remaining three cardholders. Roland enhances the image of the man called the General and Michael stares into the face of a no-nonsense-looking old man with a definite background in the military.

When he glances over at Sara, however, there's a look of sheer terror and horrified realization on her face. He inquires, "You alright?"

She stares at the computer screen a moment more before gently taking his arm, pulling him aside. "Look, most of what happened to me in Panama is a total blank, but um… When I was being held, I could hear Gretchen talking on the phone in the other room. And she was taking orders from the guy in charge… and she called him the General."

Michael is tad bit confused. "In charge of the mission?"

"No," Sara negates. "I think in charge of The Company."

Suddenly, things become _very_ interesting- and a whole lot more difficult.


	63. Blow Out

Blow Out

In order to lift the information off of Nathaniel Edison's card, the entire team is heading to the derby to pretend to watch the horses race. It's dangerous for sure; there are security and police officers everywhere and just one long look at any of their faces would surely rat them out. Michael knows his bucket hat isn't much of a disguise, but he's working with what he was able to find on such short notice. He glances to his right and sees Lincoln standing nonchalantly by the gates, Sucre a few feet away. To his left, Alex is propped up on a table and Bellick is waiting in line to purchase a bet on one of the horses- or, really, to start a commotion with one of the employees. All they're waiting for now is-

Michael spots her and tries not to stare too long. In order to be the yuppie southern belle she must act as this morning, she must, of course, dress the part. Her hair is curled and feathered around her shoulders and she's wearing oversized sunglasses that cover half of her face. Jeans riding low and hip-hugging, Sara's paired this with a halter top that's low-cut and, correct him if he's wrong, but is she not wearing a bra? He gulps, swallows hard and watches as she exits the escalator, fidgeting with her clothes and tucking her sunglasses into her clutch. She's uncomfortable, he can tell, because she never does dress like this, but Michael can't help but enjoy the view. He folds his newspaper in half, the newspaper he hadn't really been reading, as she rounds the corner and meets his eye. He can tell she knows what he's thinking, because she smirks and shakes her head.

"Don't get used to it."

He won't and he doesn't want to, but he's grinning all the same. He loves Sara to death and the fact that she's uncomfortable in these revealing yet flattering clothes only makes him love her more. He's anxious for this to be over, because he wants and he's planning_ so much_ with her, but for now, he'll settle for those few precious moments alone, those sparing passionate moments aboard their boat, and those intimate instances they share late at night when the rest of the team is fast asleep and the none-the-wiser. He can settle, for now, for the little things; her smile that still brightens even his darkest days is ever-present, even through the stress. He passes Lincoln, who can tell where his mind is and rolls his eyes, telling Michael to keep his head straight, to focus.

Michael will try, but he's not promising anything.

* * *

Sara had been able to distract the security guard the first time, in order for Michael and Alex to get into the back office and strategically place Roland's device, but she had not been successful the second time. Alex gets stuck and the next time she sees him, he's being handcuffed and forced into the back of a police car. They're screwed; they're screwed and it's all her fault. When they head back home to talk this over, to figure out a plan, to figure out what they should do about it, Lincoln says the only thing they can do is to let it go and to move on with their plans; after all, Self had gotten the device back and they had the information from the fourth card. Sucre and Bellick are both outraged and even Sara thinks this is a bit harsh. Alex is part of the team, after all. But Michael agrees with his brother; they must keep moving. They don't have a choice.

So they keep talking and forming plans for their heist on Howard Scuderi. Michael talks of Scuderi's residence, the security surrounding it and the way they are going to cut the power and enter his home to find the card. Bellick, however, angrily states he wants to know exactly what it is he's doing, here, because he can't be going back to prison; not now, not when, if that should happen, there isn't a plan to get him back out. There's a pause before Sucre announces he agrees with his new friend and Sara doesn't voice her opinion, but she can understand where they're coming from. Then again, she knows where Michael and Lincoln are coming from, too. They can't just halt their operations simply because they're a man down; not now, not when they're this close to the end. When they break their meeting for the evening, Sara retires to the boat and isn't long before Michael follows her.

"Well, I guess…" He announces as he comes to sit beside her. "I guess we're going to leave him in jail."

He doesn't sound at all sure about his decision. Sara wonders, "Is that a statement or a question?"

"It's just… if something happens to Alex," Michael sighs. "If The Company finds him…"

Sara knows Michael well enough to know that if anything should happen to anyone around him, he would always feel responsible, no matter what the cause. She decides to add some perspective. "If the roles were reversed and you were the one locked up, do you really think Alex would risk it all to get you out?"

She can see him juggle this question and weigh the answer back and forth in his mind. It's the fascinating thing about watching Michael think; you can see the whole process from beginning to end like a well-choreographed dance and watch him arrive at a conclusion. Sara continues, "I mean, I don't know. He was a federal agent. I think he'd finish what he started. I think he'd bring The Company down."

"You're probably right," Michael says softly, glancing away.

"I won't hold you responsible either way; whether you want to get him out or leave him there," Sara tells him. "But at the end of the day… We still have a task that we need to accomplish within a timely fashion, so we need to think about what's best for the team."

He nods. "I know. And I think… I think what's best for the team is to make sure that we have all members accounted for."

"Okay," Sara nods, too. "Then let's get him out."

And they do, because Alex is a valuable part of the team and Sara knows that Michael does not need any more guilt on his conscience.


	64. Five the Hard Way

Five the Hard Way

Just when they're ready to make their move on Scuderi's card, he charters a flight to Vegas. Self is pissed and they aren't sure why, because it isn't like they planned this. He suggests they wait until he gets back to get the card, but Alex disagrees instantly. Insistent upon getting to Vegas, getting the card, and getting back by midnight, Alex is sure this is a much better plan. Lincoln agrees; he'd rather not drag this out. Michael's sure a little road trip to Vegas won't be too unwelcomed; Self tells them if they aren't back by midnight, they're all going to prison. At this point, this threat doesn't really have an effect on any of them. It isn't anything they haven't heard before. They finalize their plans, configure their ideals and collect their data as Bellick and Sucre ask what the plan is. Roland's catcalls and shouts are their reply. That settles it- they're going to Vegas.

But- Bellick gets a call and someone must deal with T-Bag. The woman who says she knows where he is says she also wants two grand before she'll even release her information. Alex offers to stay and Michael frowns; so much for the road trip he'd been planning. It may have been all business, but he'd been looking forward to getting out of the warehouse for a day. He puts Lincoln in charge of the Vegas endeavor and sends Sara, Sucre and Roland with him, stating the rest of them will stay to deal with T-Bag. He can sense the disappointment in Sara's eyes and hopes she isn't taking this as a dismissal. But he knows how dangerous T-Bag is and he knows what he's capable of and if this is a trap, if anything were to go wrong, he wants the people he cares about the most to be far, far away from the danger. And Roland, well. They'll need the device, so he goes too.

As the team breaks up to begin their assignments, Michael catches Sara's arms. "Hey, promise me something, would you?"

"Yeah," She says, her visage serious, as if she's prepared to give her life if he asks her to.

"Can you get me Carrot Top's autograph?" He asks instead and she grins, bowing her head to rest upon his chest, her body shaking with laughter. "Because I just think that would make this whole thing worthwhile."

She's still laughing a moment later when she glances up at him. "Be safe."

They kiss goodbye and Michael watches her go with a pang of sadness in his chest. It isn't as though they'll be separated for too long, but he still can't bear the thought of anything happening to her while they're apart. But she's with Lincoln, she's with Sucre, she'll surely be safe; or at least, that's what he has to tell himself. He forces himself to focus on the task at hand and when he and Alex get the call from Bellick saying there's a situation at hand, he knows this isn't going to end well. They head up to the rooftop where Bellick is being held at gunpoint by T-Bag himself and everything Michael had previously thought is confirmed. He's not sure how it happens, but somehow Alex gets away. He, Bellick and the nameless girl get carted to some upscale apartment and tied to a chair as a consequence.

This is exactly what he'd been protecting Sara, Lincoln and Sucre from by sending them away.

T-Bag forces him to find the solution to the mysterious drawings, codes, equations and patterns found in the bird book and Michael honestly isn't going to do it, but the psychopath's got a gun to the nameless girl's head and Michael knows he's a sick bastard and that he'll do it. So he does as he's told, because he can't let someone die, not for this. He follows T-Bag to Gate and they dig deep beneath his coveted office and, thankfully, Alex had been thinking just like Michael had once again and he finds the note and them. They lock T-Bag behind the chain-linked gate and depart, meeting up with Self outside the business's headquarters. It isn't long before Self receives a phone call harassing him for T-Bag's whereabouts and Michael, fed up already with this mysterious being, takes the phone himself.

"Who is this?" Michael demands in irritation.

"_Hello Michael_," the unmistakably cool voice of Gretchen Morgan fills his ears and his entire body surges with anger and fear.

Because he may have protected Sara from T-Bag today, but he can't protect her from this.

* * *

The trip to Vegas only takes a few hours, but no one speaks the entire ride there. Sara knows what they're all thinking; she'd become a pro at reading facial expressions and body language in the past couple of days. She knows Sucre is anxious and apprehensive, she knows Lincoln is agitated and worried and Roland, well, he's another story. To be honest, Sara hadn't planned on making this trip with the three of them. She's not sure what makes the four of them so keen for the job of taking Scuderi's card, but she's hoping it'll be over quickly so she can get back. Gambling had never thrilled her and even though she'd been looking forward to getting away from the warehouse, the big city lights and the endless thrills are not really her cup of tea.

They're walking through the casino when Lincoln asks her, "You hear from Michael?"

"No," Sara says simply. "Why?"

"Nothing," He shrugs in a faux nonchalance that tells Sara there's more to be heard. "Let's get this thing done. Vegas ain't my town."

They've checked into a room in the tower for the afternoon in order to have a quiet, private place to make sure they've copied the card. They look much too casual for the casino, so they change clothes quickly and head back down to survey the scene and search for Scuderi. All the while, Lincoln's question eats away at Sara until she cannot take it anymore. Everything's fine back in L.A.; she's sure of it. Well, kind of. But then again, Michael hadn't tried to reach her all day and that _is_ a bit strange, isn't it? She's beginning to worry even though she knows she probably shouldn't. He's busy, she's busy; they don't have time for idle chatter anyway. But Lincoln had asked for a reason and she must find out what that is, because she's driving herself crazy trying to come up with it herself.

She finds Lincoln and Sucre heading her way and the latter heads off deeper into the casino as the former greets her as though nothing is wrong. "Hey Sara."

"Hey, uh, I realize this may not be the best time for this, but I still haven't heard from Michael. Why?" Sara tells him and tries to catch the emotion flash in Lincoln's eyes before he covers it with the typical male bravado.

"They must be busy dealing with T-Bag," He states, glancing away in hopes she won't catch his lie.

"Lincoln," Sara pleads, not buying it. "Come on."

"What?"

"Vegas just isn't your town?" She implores. "From everything I've heard about you, that would be a pretty big change of pace."

He walks away, leaving her with, "I guess so."

"Lincoln," Sara doesn't let him get far. "Please talk to me."

He sighs, giving in. "Michael told you about Mom?"

"No."

"They were much alike," Lincoln begins. "They got the same mind. As Mom got older, she started losing it. We later found out it was a symptom of a brain tumor- herma-"

"Hamartoma?" Sara corrects and Lincoln nods.

"Yeah. As a kid, she got nosebleeds, then they stopped," Lincoln explains. "In her thirties, they started up again. She later died of a brain aneurism."

"You're telling me this because Michael and his mother are similar in that way too, right?" Sara asks, feeling as though a thousand-pound weight has just been placed on her chest.

"He had nosebleeds as a kid, then they stopped," Lincoln tells her gently. "Last couple of days, they started up again."

"How old was your Mom when she passed away?" Sara probes, both wanting and dreading to hear the answer.

"Thirty-one," Lincoln sighs. "Michael just turned thirty-one."

Horrified, Sara doesn't notice when Sucre calls a moment later to tell them he's found Scuderi. She hasn't been thinking about Scuderi at all. Her thoughts remain on Michael, on the shocking and terrifying news she's just learned, on how, if she'd known, she'd have rushed him into emergency care in an effort to save him. She doesn't care about Scuderi, anymore. She doesn't care about the rest of the cardholders, Scylla, or The Company right now. The only thing she can think about, the only thing she _cares_ about, is getting Michael medical attention. Medical attention, that is, from a qualified, licensed doctor, two things she certainly isn't, not anymore. Nothing else matters to her now; nothing else matters _anymore_.

They might acquire Scylla and take down The Company, they might not. But none of that matters if Michael is going to die.


	65. The Price

The Price

The moment he comes face to face with Gretchen, Michael realizes he still wants to kill her. Sara's alive, sure, but the damage she'd inflicted upon her is irreparable. But he can't get into that right now. First he must deal with the T-Bag problem; he can exact his revenge later. Unfortunately, she _is_ on their side and she does have the pages from the bird book that they do not have, so he is forced to form an uneasy alliance with her. He has no idea how he's going to break this news to Sara and he's dreading it, but when he returns to the warehouse, there's another problem to deal with- Roland's device has been compromised. He groans in irritation but allows Lincoln to handle it and follows Sara outside when she says she wants to talk. He does too, but he can't imagine what he'll say.

"So, your brother told me about your nosebleeds," Sara says, no beating around the bush, and Michael curses Lincoln for his inability to keep a secret. "And he told me about your Mom."

Sooner or later, he knew he was going to have to tell her. But he'd hoped they'd be long done with this Scylla disaster before the situation approached. "That wasn't his place."

"To be worried about you?" Sara asks incredulously.

"When Mom got sick, Linc was at the hospital everyday holding her hand and watching her die," Michael sighs. "He was thirteen. It changed him; it made him overprotective. And now he's jumping to all the wrong conclusions for all the wrong reasons and it's over nothing because… I'm _fine_."

"You don't look fine," Sara tells him and he knows she can see through every act he throws her way.

He deflects this, deciding, instead, to drop the bomb. "Well… Maybe it's because there's something I have to tell you."

Michael steps closer, braces her body in his arms. "Gretchen's alive."

He watches the horror creep into her face and it absolutely kills him. "She's working with T-Bag and they have several pages from Whistler's bird book and they want in on Scylla. Self is cutting them a deal as we speak."

Sara looks as though a ghost has passed through her and she shrinks out of his grasp. He doesn't take it personally. "Self knows they have their own agenda, but so do we. And as soon as we have those pages back, Gretchen and T-Bag are going to pay for everything. They're going to get _exactly_ what's coming to them."

"Okay," She says finally, her voice small and low. "This isn't about Gretchen; it isn't about any one person. We have to finish it."

He reaches out to her again but she backs away. "I need a minute. Please."

Michael nods and leaves her to herself, hoping that this won't be the thing that will cause her to unravel.

* * *

Sara can't get Gretchen out of her head and for a moment, she forgets about Michael's condition, because, selfishly, she can't stop thinking about her own. The only thing running through her mind as she dresses in paramedic garb for the day's activities and loads supplies into the medical bag is the last time she'd seen Gretchen; she'd dragged a blonde woman, the one who'd led her to an escape, into the room, shoved her to her knees and shot her point blank into the skull. Her blood had spattered against the wall, onto her clothes, and Sara had sat there in shock, unable to move, to breathe, to think. Gretchen had whipped her senselessly and had tortured her endlessly for weeks and the only comfort and solace she'd gotten following this disaster had been that she was dead. Now, however, that very thought was taken away. Gretchen's still out there, somewhere, and there's nothing stopping her from doing to somebody else what she'd done to Sara.

Roland's in the room as well and she hadn't noticed until now, because he makes a comment, picking up the broken ankle monitor Michael had previously worn. "I see your boyfriend's no longer sporting the latest fashion in GPS technology. So if neither one of you are wearing ankle monitors, what are you still doing here? You should be having hot fugitive sex in every cash-only no-tell motel from here to Mexico."

Color rises on her cheeks and she has to say, the thought has crossed her mind. Even still, shouldn't he be as embarrassed as she is to discuss their sex life with a perfect stranger? "Some things are more important than what two people want, Roland. I honestly hope that someday that makes sense to you."

She turns to go, but he calls her back and apologizes for his stint in Vegas. Sara doesn't say anything; she isn't going to give him the benefit of forgiveness. She simply nods and heads down the stairs, towards the exterior. But her phone rings, then; she answers swiftly. "Hello?"

"_Look, I have a message for you from Gretchen_._ She wants to meet with you tonight at seven p.m. at the Safari Motel, Room 109_."

Again, fear and dread fuel the blood pumping through Sara's veins and she can't get a refusal out to Self fast enough. "Why?"

"_She said she wants to clear the air, whatever that means_."

She can still hear the sound of the whip cracking against her back, slicing into her skin, spilling her blood all over the floor. "I'm not interested."

"_Okay._"

Sara knows Self must have no idea what's gone on between them, otherwise he would most likely not have passed along the message in the first place.

* * *

They're parked exactly where they're supposed to be; their gleaming red ambulance positioned and standing by at the intersection. Michael watches Sara rummage through her medical bag, checking for the third time to be sure she's got everything she needs. He asks, "No one's expecting you to actually treat this bastard, right?"

Without looking at him, Sara answers, "Yeah. I'm still a doctor."

He checks on Sucre and Lincoln while Sara settles herself and when she can't control any other situation, she turns the conversation back to him. "I understand from Lincoln your Mom had a hamartoma in her right frontal lobe."

Michael looks at her and, strangely, is transported all the way back to Fox River, because she's got the same no-nonsense look in her eye she'd given him all those months ago. He knows not to mess with her; he's learned his lesson by now. "That's right."

"When a tumor like that gets large enough to be problematic, it's going to come with a lot of symptoms," Sara informs him. "Loss of short-term memory, problems with your depth perception, problems with your motor skills… If you had anything like that, you'd let me know, right?"

"Yes, but I haven't," Michael insists. "And I won't. And I'm _fine_."

She doesn't believe him; hell, _he_ doesn't believe him, but they can't focus on his condition too long, because the plan's been botched, they've been set up and Sucre's been shot.

* * *

"Stay with us, Fernando! You're going to be okay!"

"It was a set-up! They knew we were going to be there!"

"Brad, I'm going to need some gauze."

"What do you mean? You think they knew? You think they know about this place?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"If they knew about this place, they could be coming here right now."

"If they knew, we'd already be dead."

"What about that Gretchen chick? What does she know?"

"She had a couple pages from Whistler's bird book! That doesn't make her psychic!"

"Brad!" Sara shouts over the commotion. "I need some gauze!"

And then everyone's silent, because Sucre is writhing on the table and Bellick is fumbling for the gauze and Sara's got her hands halfway into Sucre's abdominal cavity. Suddenly, she's transported back to those early hospital days when her job had been to save lives. It may be morbid, but these are the situations in which Sara shines the brightest. She's in the zone; Michael asks, "You have everything you need?"

"I'm good," She tells him simply and digs even further for that shiny bullet. When she fishes it out, she shows it to Sucre as if it's some kind of prize. "There you go."

"I would've died on this table if it weren't for you, Doc," Sucre says gratefully and Sara smiles.

"Yeah? Just wait till you get my bill," She teases him and finishes suturing the wound.

It's when she's washing the blood off of her arms and hands that she remembers Gretchen's plea for a meeting. It takes everything in her not to turn around and go home, but the best way to get over a fear is to face it, right? She takes a deep breath and enters the motel room to find Gretchen already there and waiting. The moment Gretchen greets her, Sara wants to turn around again. But there's something rooting her to the spot and she's sure she wouldn't be able to leave if she wanted to. She stays. "Hello Sara."

She slams the door shut as Gretchen speaks. "A former mentor of mine once told me a story that I think applies to this situation. At the end of the Civil War, Grant's Union Army had Lee's Confederate soldiers outflanked at Appomattox. Lee understood the futility of more bloodshed, so he requested a cease-fire. He wanted to bring an end to the fighting. Soldiers that had been killing each other that morning walked across the lines that afternoon for the first time as allies to trade northern coffee for southern tobacco."

Sara's not sure what the history lesson has to do with their situation but she remains silent anyway. Gretchen says, "Now I don't expect us to exchange gifts, but that doesn't mean we can't be allies."

She crosses to the bedside table and picks up a very familiar object; the whip. "Of course, you can't have a cease-fire without both parties getting what they want."

Gretchen holds the whip out to her and Sara falters a moment before realizing she expects her to take it. When Sara does, Gretchen begins to unbutton her shirt, turning and revealing her bare back that bears identical-twin scars to Sara's own. "You have five minutes. Put as many scars on my back as possible."

And Sara does nothing, at least, not at first. This is _not_ how she solves problems and she's not sure how Gretchen thought it would be. She tosses the whip onto the bed just as Gretchen says, "I don't want to rush you, but you have four minutes left."

"What was her name?" Sara asks simply.

"This is a one-time deal, Sara," Gretchen warns her. "You want your pound of flesh, you take it now."

"What was her name?" Sara insists again.

"Who?"

"The guard," Sara specifies and it makes her sick that Gretchen could not remember. "The one you shot and left to die in my arms."

"That's what this is about?" Gretchen deadpans. "A guard that couldn't do her job?"

Sara's through playing games. She crosses the room and places the blade of her scalpel against the hollow column of Gretchen's throat. "_What was her name?_"

"Taylor," Gretchen spits out.

"Her _first_ name!"

"Michelle," Gretchen grits her teeth, irritated. "I think."

"You should know that this isn't about me," Sara informs her former captor. "I can handle the scars you put on my back but what you did to Michelle-"

"I had orders," Gretchen cuts her off, indignant. "She tried to help you escape."

"She did help me escape," Sara corrects her. "She didn't try."

"Then she got what she deserved."

This comment horrifies Sara; it's terrifying to know that there are actually people in the world who think like this and even more terrifying that she's standing in the same room as one. "She saved my life… And you took hers."

Sara begins to leave and Gretchen tells her, "You proved your point. We're even."

"We're a long way from even," Sara replies, smearing a dab of blood against the doorframe. "And when this is over, you'll pay for Michelle."

The slate between them will never be clean. But at least, for now, Sara has gotten a semblance of closure.


	66. Greatness Achieved

Greatness Achieved

When Sara returns home, the warehouse has become the scene of a crime. Roland's been killed and Lincoln tells her it's poetic justice because he's the one who had ratted them out to The Company. Everyone is feeling pretty awkward about his death, though; they hadn't liked Roland at all, but even still, a member of their team has _died_. It should evoke _some_ kind of emotion. Sara notices Alex is sitting in the corner of the room with his gaze transfixed on the breaker room, rocking back in forth in agitation and anticipation. When she follows his line of vision, she is utterly shocked to find that very same Company hit man who had followed her days earlier; who had killed Alex's son. Michael very calmly informs her that his name is Wyatt and they're going to get what they need out of him before releasing Alex to do what he wants with him.

Right now, they're seated at the conference table watching Lincoln unleash the beating of a lifetime on Wyatt's face. When Bellick pulls Lincoln out, Sara asks, "Believe me now? Beating him isn't going to work."

"We tried your way," Lincoln tells her. "We need General Krantz to think Wyatt took us out."

"Even if you do break him and he does call the General," Michael reasons. "You don't think a trained military veteran is going to hear the fear in his voice? They're going to know he was coerced."

"Yeah, well," Lincoln gestures towards their makeshift cell. "I need some more time with him."

"I hear you, Linc," Michael sighs. "But he can't make the call if he's unconscious."

"Well, however we do it, we better get what we need from Wyatt soon," Bellick says. "Because Mahone ain't going to wait."

They all glance over to Alex, who is doing his best to keep his composure, just as Self enters the room. "I assume we haven't made any progress with our friend over there?"

"Any suggestions?" Michael implores.

"How about we talk to him?"

Sara frowns; it's _exactly_ what she'd been suggesting this entire time. Sucre says, "Great. Want to give him some milk and cookies while you're at it?"

"No," Self grins wickedly, placing a metal brief case on the table before them. "How about just some nice conversation?"

Sara can't imagine what's in the box, but maybe she and Self hadn't been on the same page, after all. Before he can open it, Sara offers, "I'll talk to him."

"Absolutely not," Michael disagrees instantly.

Lincoln agrees with his brother. "Sara, that's not a good idea."

"Why not? He can't do anything," She tells them, understanding their fear and wanting to erase it. "And beating the shit out of him clearly didn't work."

"Are you sure talking to him is going to work?" Sucre asks uneasily and Sara shakes her head.

"I'm not sure of anything," Sara tells him. "But we haven't tried it. It's worth a shot."

"Sara," Michael says, drawing in a deep breath. "I don't want to send you in there."

"I'll be fine," She assures him. "Let's just get it over with."

Self leads the way and Sara enters the makeshift cell, all the while feeling Michael's eyes on the both of them, watching like a hawk.

* * *

Michael can't believe he allowed the situation to escalate so far out of his control. Sara is locked in a cage with a _professional assassin_. She's trapped in there with a Company hit man and everyone else is just going about their business like it's a regular day. How can Self expect him to focus at a time like this? Well, he _is_ focusing, after all; it just isn't on the task at hand. His eyes are trained on Wyatt and he's standing only a mere few feet away, ready to pounce if he were to somehow break free of his confining shackles. Sara's much calmer than he is, speaking coolly and evenly about something he can't make out, and he wonders how, when she'd been through so much, she could possibly continue to be this brave. Michael's still watching worriedly and in paranoia a moment later when Self calls him back to the table.

"Come on, Michael," Self says impatiently. "She's okay."

"He's a professional killer," Michael shoots back, fist clenching and unclenching subconsciously.

"Don't worry; he's locked up," Self waves off the situation's danger. "Let's go."

When Michael still doesn't move, only continues to watch Wyatt's lack of movement like a predator, Self urges, "_Come on!_ Let's go!"

He does, but continues to keep one eye, at all times, on the cage. When they've finished their plans and ready themselves for a trip to Gate, Sara exits the cell and tells them that, unsurprisingly, she hadn't gotten anything out of him. Self enters the cell instead and the others load the tools they'll need that afternoon into the back of the SUV. Michael pulls Sara aside and tells her, "We're heading to Gate. Since you've already given me a heart attack today-"

"I'm fine," Sara rolls her eyes. "He didn't do anything. He didn't even really say anything; I told him that if he didn't call the General, he'd be as good as dead. He said that he's already been a lot of things far worse than being dead in his lifetime. Michael, I really don't think he's going to break."

"Then we'll let Alex at him," Michael says. "Do you want to come with us?"

"No," Sara tells him. "But I also don't want to stay here, either. I know what Alex is going to do and I don't blame him, but I'd rather not be here to see it."

Michael nods. "Why don't you take a walk?"

"Yeah, that sounds good right about now," She agrees and then inquires, "How are you feeling today?"

He sighs even though he's expected it. "Fine. I told you, Sara, I'm fine."

"And you aren't having any symptoms?"

"No," Michael insists. "I'm telling you, it's stress."

Sara doesn't look as convinced as he is, but they kiss goodbye and she tells him to be safe anyway. _It's stress_, he tells himself. _It's just the pressure of what you have to do and it's getting to be too much_.

But then, in the depths of the underground, he has a seizure and Bellick drowns and Michael has this horrible feeling that maybe he's sick (_like mother, like son_), after all.

Maybe he _is_ going to die. Maybe he's next.


	67. The Legend

The Legend

Losing two members of their team in two days in unheard of. This time it's different, because everyone had liked Bellick and everyone would feel his absence from their lives. It's ironic, Sara thinks, that they had all liked him, because back in Fox River he had made their lives a living hell. But he was drunk on power, then, and seeing him here, stripped of control, he had been just a regular guy, scared of going to prison just like the rest of them. Self tells them to get out of mourning and get back to work; they can't focus on who they've lost because they have to focus on what they need to find. It takes Alex and Michael under a minute to crack the code and discover a name out of nothing- David Baker. It's fascinating to Sara how in tune their minds are; she wouldn't have seen that in a million years.

She prints out the address for David Baker as the others plan to head to Gate to continue to build past the water mane. Michael announces that the two of them will be looking David Baker and she doesn't give this a second glance. But she does look up a moment later when he calls her name, because it sounds painful, strangled, and there must be something wrong. He hadn't been looking well at all, so she's not surprised to find him looking so in pain. But she is surprised, a moment later, when he collapses to the floor, unconscious. Sara doesn't even move, at first; Lincoln rushes over to his brother and Sucre and Alex follow, but Sara is numb and terrified. Then, as if someone's flipped a switch within her, she snaps into action.

He's only out for a moment and when he comes to, his first words are, "I'm okay."

Sara isn't buying it. She tells Lincoln and Sucre to get him into the car. They're going to the hospital; they've put this off for too long. Self hesitates, saying, "Okay, come on, guys, let's not freak out."

"This is my decision and not yours," Sara tells him. "And we're going to the hospital."

"Well what's wrong with him?" Self asks doubtfully.

"David Baker," Michael says weakly and Alex is on it.

"I'll go. I'll find him."

Self calls some parting shots, telling her to use their fake IDs at the hospital and Sara would just really like to tell him to shut the fuck up. She doesn't, but she does slam the door and speeds out of the warehouse, because Michael's health is dangerously failing. Once Michael is in triage, Sara catches the attending nurse and informs her briefly on his condition. "Sorry to bother you, but I'm internist and I've brought my husband in. He's in and out of consciousness and he's got some symptoms that concern me. I'd be really grateful if we could see a neurologist."

The nurse agrees and hands her some paperwork to fill out, which she does and tries to ignore how hard her hands are shaking. It looks as though she's written out the information on the back of a moving vehicle. They take Michael's blood pressure and ask him about his family's neurological history and Sara tries not to be alarmed when Michael informs the nurses of his mother's disease. When everything's done, they're sent to the waiting room until he's called for his MRI. Sara is worried sick, but she can tell Michael isn't bothered; he wants nothing more than to be back at Gate with the rest of the team attempting to obtain Scylla.

When he tries to call Lincoln for the third time, Sara informs him, "They're underground. You're not going to be able to reach them."

"Right," He sighs impatiently and Sara knows it's killing him to have the situation out of his control.

"And you know what? They'll be just fine without you," Sara says but he doesn't look convinced.

She decides to change the subject. "I never thought the guys would be so sad for Brad Bellick."

"A lot of things have changed since Fox River," Michael states. He's brought it right back.

"You know you can't control this," Sara says, then. "Yeah?"

"That's funny," Michael smiles. "I was just about to tell you the same thing."

"Whatever it is, we can manage it," Sara smiles back, resting a hand on his shoulder. "We just need to know what we're dealing with."

"What if I don't want to know?" Michael asks, then, taking the hand she'd offered him and lacing it with his own.

She doesn't get the chance to answer, because Michael is called, then, for his MRI. Sara's glad, because she's not sure what she'd say to something like that.

There is a part of Sara that doesn't want to know, either. After all, ignorance is bliss.

* * *

It only takes a couple of minutes, just like they'd promised him. Michael's back sitting beside Sara in moments, just waiting, now, for the results. He isn't sure what to do or say; he's not sure there is anything _to_ do or say, so he just sits impatiently and hopes for the best. Michael guesses Sara's just as bored and impatient as he is, but if she is, she isn't giving any signals towards being so. He wishes this was over so he could get back to the task at hand. He's got a job to finish and he needs to be back at Gate helping the rest of the team. He doesn't have time for this inconvenience; he can't think of a worse time to be sick. Doctors rush by in a flurry of animation and Michael tries to pretend that everything is alright, that none of it has anything to do with him, that he and Sara aren't here right now.

"I needed to make sure that I had access to your test results," Sara confesses a moment later. "So I told the triage nurse… That I was your wife."

This makes him grin for the first time all day. He glances over at her and she gives him a look that tells him she is slightly embarrassed, but doesn't regret it one bit. Michael tells her, "It has a nice ring."

She laughs, but if he's being serious, there hasn't been a day that's gone by since they were reunited that he hasn't imagined spending the rest of his life with her. They can't think about the what ifs too long, though, because the doctor suggests admitting him to a room right away in order to await the results of the testing. Michael disagrees and moves to go, but Sara, just as stubborn as he is, tells him it can't hurt anything and at least he'll be in a place where he's being monitored. He doesn't _want_ to stay; he didn't want to be here in the first place. But Sara believes it's for the best and he has to admit that she's most likely right. She's the doctor, after all, she must know what she's doing.

Lincoln calls only moments later. Michael's spirits lift slightly. "It's my brother."

But Sara isn't paying attention. "Michael…"

He glances up and follows her line of vision to the police officer standing a few feet away. "Let's go."

They jump up and hurry down the hall, but there's a police officer behind the swinging doors, too. "Sara…"

"You're not leaving, are you?" The doctor calls after them and Michael is reluctant to stay too long.

"You have our number, right?" He confirms as he and Sara, again, try to make a break for it.

But this doctor is no fool; he knows exactly who they are. He tells them he isn't going to turn them in and the officers in the hospital now are not here for them; he's only concerned with Michael's health, because his condition is fragile and severe. Michael's sure he's telling the truth, but they can't risk it; they take off anyway. Upon their arrival back at the warehouse, Alex fills him on Baker and Lincoln and Sucre tell him of their exploits underground. Self enters, then, and asks if Michael's okay, to which he nods, before announcing that they've retrieved Bellick's body and are planning on sending him home immediately. Michael asks to see him and the others follow to pay their final respects. Self unlocks the car, pulls out the coffin and lifts the lid soundlessly.

He appears as though he could merely be sleeping; he looks peacefully at rest. Alex steps forth and places the FBI badge he'd once given him atop the lapel of his suit. Then it's too much; Lincoln closes the casket, Sucre steps away to make the fateful call to Mrs. Bellick, and Michael is stuck watching as yet another human life is cut short because of this, because of _him_. He walks away, places a comforting hand on Sara's back in passing, and can't return the watery smile she gives him. Michael must immerse himself in the planning of the B&E because if he allows himself to lose focus again, he'll surely combust. He can't take all the suffering; but he can't focus too long. They work long into the night and he tries not to notice when Sara excuses herself to take a call. From the looks of it, it's _the_ call; the one with his test results, the one confirming his fate. When the meeting adjourns, he crosses the room towards her, hearing every footprint as if it's the beat of a heavy drum. This is it; judgment day.

"That was the neurologist," Sara says even though they both already know. "You have a hypothalamus hamartoma."

_Just like Mom_.

"It's really rare; you were probably born with it," Sara explains. "Things have changed. It's growing, which is why you've been experiencing symptoms."

_Just like Mom_.

Sara exhales heavily before saying, "And the doctor feels that you need surgery."

"Two days," Michael pleads. "That's what I need."

Sara shakes her head. "No, tomorrow. Otherwise you could die and there's no alternative."

_Just like Mom_.


	68. Quiet Riot

Quiet Riot

Sara is sure that Michael is the most stubborn human being she has ever met. He is absolutely adamant that he is not going to the hospital for his operation until after they've taken The Company down and even though he's telling her it won't take longer than a few days, Sara can't be sure that's true. What she _is_ sure of, however, is that she's watching him decline in health and it's difficult and heartbreaking and she's going to do everything she can to fix it. Ignoring his protests, Sara calls the hospital anyway to find out when they can see him. She's not going to allow him to kill himself over Scylla, not when there's a solution to his problems. If the tumor can be successfully removed, then they're going to the hospital _today_.

"They can see you today at three," Sara informs Michael.

"No," is his simple reply.

Lincoln frowns. "You're going."

"I have to finish what we started," Michael insists. He's a rescuer, always has been, and Sara used to love that about him but right now, it's getting on her nerves.

"We've got it," Lincoln tells him and Michael, shakes his head, getting up from the table.

"I need one more day," He disagrees adamantly, and grips his skull in a way that tears at Sara's heart.

"Michael, Doctor Malden can see you _today_," Sara says calmly, evenly, as though she's reasoning with a very small child. "He's given us his word that he won't alert the authorities. If you put this off and you collapse, you're going to be treated by another doctor. Do you want to roll the dice that they're not going to call the cops?"

He sighs heavily. "There's still so much to do."

Sara glances over at Lincoln, whose mouth is set into an impatient, thin line. Michael turns to face both of them and gives in. "Alright."

"Three o'clock," Sara repeats and Michael nods.

This doesn't stop him from continuing on with the break-in plans even though he won't be a part of them. Sara lets him go; she has to pick her battles. Instead, she decides to head out to the docks to clear her head and, on the way, finds Lincoln at the door, staring off into space, mind obviously occupied. It occurs to her that as much as she needs the reassurance right now, Lincoln could probably use some too. "He's going to be okay."

Lincoln doesn't respond and Sara doesn't really expect him to. He isn't the biggest confronter of feelings. She goes on. "I'm scared too, but the hospital's the best place for him right now."

"He won't go without a plan to complete the job," Lincoln says.

Sara had assumed that was true. "Well… Alex and Fernando should be back soon with the video, right?"

"Should be, yeah."

"So then all we need is the sixth card."

Lincoln sighs. "Gretchen's working on that."

Sara hesitates. "You really think we can trust her?"

"With the card? Absolutely," Lincoln answers honestly. "With anything else? Nope."

He heads back inside and Sara's not sure what else to do other than follow him. She can't control this situation; Michael had told her so the day earlier. But she _can_ do everything she can to get better acquainted with the surgery he'll be having that afternoon. Sara calls the hospital and takes plenty of notes and when she finds Michael again, it's as if he's read her mind, asking, "What did you find out?"

"You'll be awake the whole time," She begins. "The only anesthetic you'll need is four minor injections of local- two in your forehead and two in the back of your head."

"That's for the brace?" He wonders.

"The frame, yeah," She corrects. "And attaching that is going to be the most uncomfortable part. They're going to secure four pins into your skull and they're going to need a small drill to do it."

Lincoln appears as if he's going to be sick. "Do we have to listen to this?"

"I want to hear this, Linc," Michael tells his brother, urging Sara to go on. "And then what?"

"Another CT scan," Sara continues. "The doctor will use the three-dimensional imagery to pinpoint the exact location of the growth."

He nods. "And once you have that?"

"Then it's the gamma knife unit," Sara says. "They'll fit you with a helmet. They'll calibrate it so that each of the 201 holes are aimed directly for the tumor and at that point, it's just a matter-"

Self cuts her off then, talking about boxes of supplies he's left in the car. Michael looks disappointed, as if he'd wanted to hear the rest of the procedure, of what she had to say.

Sara's relieved, though. She's not sure she'd have been able to keep going.

* * *

He's in the middle of a sentence detailing how to get past the wall when suddenly, he loses his train of thought. He can't remember what he was talking about and he can't seem to find the words he's looking for to finish his sentence. The room begins to swirl and spin and the walls begin to close in on him; he feels like he's going to be sick, like he's going to pass out again, and that dull, throbbing pain in his skull pounds and slams at his brain. Alex takes over and finishes his thought and Michael has to step away, ignoring the looks on Lincoln and Sara's faces as he leans against the table until the moment passes. Alex sits beside him and tells him a story about a former coworker of his who'd been diagnosed with liver cancer and didn't want to leave the office and none of it makes Michael feel better; if anything, it only gives him more of a headache.

Michael decides to try Sara's trick on for size and leaves the warehouse in search of alone time on the docks. Of course, if he's traded places with her for a moment, he shouldn't be shocked- and isn't- when she comes up behind him as he does with her. She wraps her arms around his torso from behind and he lays a gentle hand on one of her own. He can't blame her for being worried about him, not after the countless moments he'd been terrified about her. Sara presses a kiss to his shoulder and announces, "It's time to go."

"All that avails is flight," Michael says in return, handing her a folder of documents. "Maybe my father was onto something."

She looks over the files he's handed her while he says, "If they all die because we tried to take down The Company and I survive because I called in sick… How am I going to live with myself?"

He can see the frustration and the impatience flood her features and he wishes there was another way. But she knows it's true just as well as he does; they get in the car and head to Gate, to The Company's headquarters. Lincoln is driving furiously and Michael knows he's made his brother irrevocably angry. But Michael truly believes he's doing the right thing; help others first, help himself later. It has always been how he lived his life; he doesn't know any other way. Sara's brought some kind of medicine with them that Michael can't identify, but if it helps, he doesn't care _what_ it is. He rolls up his sleeve and offers his arm to her. She gives him a stern look that tells him she doesn't agree with his decision _at all_.

"If I still had a medical license, I'd lose it over this," Sara tells him. "This is usually given to epileptics. It will suppress the rapid firing of neurons for the next three hours, making it unlikely that you'll have a seizure in that time. But Michael, any added mental or physical stress…"

"I get it," He tells her and she insists again.

"I mean it," Sara eyes him. "I don't want you to move unless you absolutely have to. And as soon as this is over, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Michael can live with that. His doctor might be tough, but his girlfriend's even tougher.

He doesn't plan on messing with either of them, especially considering they're both the same person.


	69. Selfless

**Well, halfway there, guys! I can't believe we're almost done. I feel like I've been writing these forever. Anyway, I just want to, as always, thank you for your feedback, even if it has been few and far between. I know you guys are there; I can check the activity graph on here. You know that, right? That I can see how many views my story gets? Okay, cool. Just so we're clear. The numbers are fairly high so THANK YOU for continuing to read! Love you all. Now enjoy!**

* * *

Selfless

Michael's not sure how, but they manage to pull off the heist. The General finds them with Scylla and tries to get smart about how they're a few cards short, but Michael only shoots him a wry grin, showing off all five of the other cards. They've outsmarted him; a group of convicts avoiding prison time have outsmarted a military veteran. He's sure the General must feel some kind of stupidity and shame, but he's not here to poke fun at the bastard. He's here to take him down. They lead him at gunpoint back to his own office and Michael calls Sara to make sure she's alright. She confirms her situation; she only needs a few more minutes to further the plan. Michael nods and takes a seat behind the General's desk, enjoying the power play.

He takes a slip of paper and begins to make a list of names; all the lives the General is responsible for. The man in question begins to talk about how there is so much about The Company that they don't know about; that both their parents worked for them. It makes Michael's brain ache and he clutches his forehead as the pain slices through him again. The General asks, "What is it you all want?"

He begins to taunt them, one by one; first talking of Lila and then Pam. He turns to Michael. "Whatever it is that you want, I can provide. Airline tickets for you and Sara? Anywhere in the world?"

Just hearing him speak her name makes Michael sick. He slams the desk with his palm. "What I want is to see The Company burn to the ground and you in prison. It's what we all want."

"That'll never happen," The General muses and Michael smiles wryly.

For, at that very moment, he receives a call from Sara and it's exactly what he'd been waiting for. He pushes the phone towards the General and says, "It's for you."

"What is this?"

"Leverage," Michael answers smartly and watches in satisfaction as the General's expertly calm expression melts into one of horror and surprise.

He hands up before Lisa can tell them where she is and the General shouts in anger to get her back on the phone. Michael disagrees. "I suggest you take your daughter's advice."

"Look, I've read enough intel on your girlfriend to know that she wouldn't hurt a fly," the General says and Michael is reminded of Sara's past self; innocent, delicate and terrified, back in Fox River. It seems like a lifetime ago.

"Maybe three months ago," Michael says. "But she's changed. We've _all_ changed."

And it's true; months earlier, he'd never even considered holding a woman at gunpoint in order to get what he wanted. But there's no other way to do things with an organization as vicious and brutal as they are. They've all changed their ways because they had to and he's sure no one's proud of themselves; he certainly isn't. He had once told Sara, light years ago, that once this was all over, they could get their lives back. She hadn't believed him then and he doesn't believe that now, not anymore. The amount of damage he's caused is irreparable; he doesn't expect to get his fancy loft or his high-paying job back. But he doesn't want them, either. He doesn't really want anything other than to take The Company down. Once he's done that, as long as Lincoln and LJ are safe and he's got Sara, Michael doesn't need anything else.

Except, maybe, a life-saving operation.

They pull off the operation and wish Bellick had been here to see it. Handing over Scylla to Self is a glorifying, gratifying moment and Michael cannot wait to sign the paperwork and move on with his life. He's still unsteady on his feet, his vision blurry, his mind swimming and he leans against the car for support. Self asks if he's okay and he tells the agent he is. Michael feels Sara stir beside him as she negates this. "No he's not. He needs to go to a hospital."

Self nods and makes the call and the team scatters inside to pack their things. This is it; this is the end of the road. They're going to go through processing and be free once again. Lincoln and Michael are seated outside the warehouse, watching and waiting for the convoy to arrive with great anticipation. Michael inhales and exhales slowly, saying, "None of us will ever have to look over our shoulders again. That's the most important thing. No matter what comes next."

Lincoln glances over at him and says, "You're going to make it, Michael. You'll have the operation and you're going to get through this. Just like we got through everything else."

Michael nods and follows Lincoln's line of vision over to the end of the docks, where Sara is pacing back and forth in impatience. "She's worried about you."

He knows she is and he's just as terrified as she is, even if he won't admit it. He wishes there was something he could say that would ease her mind, but he's sure that she's just as sick of hearing his empty words as he is of saying them. Michael stands and walks slowly down the dock, his head pounding and his steps still unsteady, growing closer to her. Getting sick had never been a part of the grand plan he'd had for them; they're supposed to grow old together and although he does not intend on missing this, on screwing up their plan, he knows he can't control any of it. For now, he has to stay positive and optimistic, because he knows she won't; even now, after all that's happened, Sara still remains a cynic.

"Hey," Michael greets her and she only smiles in return.

"I know I'm supposed to be happy right now. I'm so scared," Sara admits. "I'm just scared we're going to have come all this way and I'm going to lose you anyway."

It's a valid fear but to hear her say the words out loud terrifies him even more. He reaches out and folds her into his arms, tucks her into an embrace, because they both _need_ it and she's scaring him right now. "Come here. Come on… Sara-"

"Just don't tell me that everything's going to be okay, please," Sara whispers into his shoulder and he pauses a moment because that is what he planned on saying.

"Okay," Michael says after a moment's hesitation, running a hand through her hair and holding her even tighter. "I won't."

They stay like that for what seems like hours and Michael would have had no problem staying like that forever if it wasn't for their anticipation of a convoy and ambulance that don't ever show up. They head inside the warehouse and everyone else is getting just as antsy. Sara asks, "Michael, it's been over an hour. Will you call Self and check on that ambulance?"

He does; he dials the number quick from memory and instead of Self answering, he gets a recorded message saying, "_We're sorry. The number you have dialed is not in service at this time. And there is no new number_."

Michael hangs up the phone and is sure his face is unreadable, because Sara asks, "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Michael reaches for the manila folder at the center of the table and opens it, pulling out their paperwork Self had given them. Or, so they'd thought; in reality, it's just a stack of blank sheets of paper. Lincoln swears violently and kicks over a chair. Alex has a look of resignation Michael had never seen before. Sucre looks panicked and Sara looks horrified.

But Michael's in suspended shock. "Self… _Self_."

They're in trouble. They're _screwed_.

And there's no one left to turn to.


	70. Deal or No Deal

Deal or No Deal

There is literally no option for them to take. Self had made it so that all of his bases were covered; framing them for the murder of Trishanne as well as himself just put them in even deeper water. Lincoln is too pissed to listen to reason and Michael generously understands, but they do need to figure out a plan B. Sara asks what they're supposed to do now and Michael wishes he had something to offer her. He doesn't. Alex suggests they leave; they've got a van, after all, and Mexico's not too far away. Sucre seems to be onboard, but Sara say they cannot go anywhere, at least not until Michael has surgery. In all the frustration and anger he's been feeling towards Self, Michael had, honestly, forgotten all about his brain tumor.

It doesn't take long for authorities to wind up at the warehouse, but by the time they do, Michael and the rest of the team are merely watching from afar. The police never leave, though, and assuming they're staking the place out and waiting for them to return, the team heads to a local motel and checks in to ride this thing out. Lincoln is peering through the window, saying, "We did what they said. I ain't going down on some chumped up murder charge."

"Self pinned two murders on us," Sucre comments in disbelief, aimlessly tossing a deck of cards one by one into the wastebasket.

"What are you doing, Linc?" Michael asks in irritation as his brother begins to load his gun.

"If Homeland Security comes-"

"Then we'll handle it," Michael cuts him off.

"You know what? There's got to be a point where you draw the line," Lincoln shouts. "And now's the time to draw that line."

"Lincoln, don't be stupid," Sara sighs. "You can't fight off all of Homeland Security-"

"Stupid is listening to the government," He argues back. "I ain't going back to death row, Doc!"

"We can still hang onto our deals," Michael promises. "All we have to do is flesh Self out and prove he has Scylla."

"And how are we going to do that?" Sucre asks incredulously.

Michael frowns. "We have to devise another strategy."

"No, we start devising a plan that can get us a hundred miles across the Mexican border," Sucre disagrees. "That's what we should do. My cousin Petey can hook us up!"

"We're not running," Michael states adamantly, his brain throbbing against the confines of his skull. "I'm not going back to living in and out of motels and always looking over my shoulder. Nothing changes; we're taking down The Company. We finish what we've started."

Sara begins dialing and Michael sighs in frustration as Alex asks, "Who are you calling?"

"The doctor."

"Sara, not now."

"When?" She asks impatiently and he sinks onto the bed beside her, defeated.

They watch helplessly as Fox News details a downtown shooting in which T-Bag and Gretchen are the suspects and realize they aren't the only ones left in the dark. They make plans to canvass the area and while the others head downstairs to secure their transportation, Michael stays behind with Sara in order for her to give him another injection of the medication she'd given him a day earlier. He can tell she isn't pleased to be doing this again. "Okay, same deal as before."

"No physical duress for the next eight hours," Michael parrots and Sara smiles grimly.

"Here's the thing- you need help. And running around trying to track down Self isn't safe," Sara tells him. "We could be in Mexico in a few hours. There are doctors there that I trust… You've been taking care of us. I think it's really okay if we take care of you."

"Surgery or no surgery," Michael says, appreciating her concern but not able to bask in it just yet. "I'm never going to be able to live with myself unless I take these people down. It's that simple. And I get it; I'm not going to demand that you feel the same way."

He honestly doesn't mind that they have differing opinions, because he knows that if the situation were reversed, he'd be in the same boat as she is right now.

Michael's priority is the good of the group, but Sara's priority is making sure that he is alive and well and he certainly can't blame her for that.

* * *

Sara has to admit they _do_ have a chance, but it's a hell of risk. After the senator had captured Lincoln that afternoon, the chance slimmed a little, but there's still a window where they may be able to win this thing. Michael hands Sucre the rendezvous point and tells him to take Sara with him and she's sure he's keeping them out of harm's way once more, just like he had a week or so ago with the Vegas trip. Sucre and Alex leave the room and it's just the two of them, but it's not at all how she'd pictured it and it's not what they've planned. She knows they have differing opinions right now and honestly, that's okay; they're not going to agree on everything. But it is causing a sort of tense air between them and she wants to clear it before either one of them steps into the crossfire.

"You know, my father spent most of his political life chasing justice. It was sort of an obsession," Sara says and it doesn't hurt to talk about her father anymore. Michael glances over at her, meets her eyes, as she continues. "And my mother and I could never understand why he would so easily make other people's problems his own. And I think that's why she left him."

She watches as the realization hits him and he glances away from her. "And Michael, you remind me more and more of him these days; the way you put everyone else's problems before your own."

Sara looks at him until he looks back. "That said, I want you to know that if this meeting with Senator Dallow doesn't go the way you want it to, you don't have to worry about you and I. Nothing's… Nothing's going to come between us."

He grins at her. "Yeah. And everything's going to be okay, right?"

She's not sure; she's definitely heard that enough times in the past couple of weeks that it _should_ be true by now. But she can't imagine this ending in a good way. He tells her he loves her before she leaves and she repeats the sentiment, ignoring the premonition that something isn't right. But she can't ignore it for long; she and Sucre arrive at the rendezvous point and realize it's a bus station. Only moments later, Alex arrives too, much too jumpy and falsely happy to be real. He says they have to get out of the city, that they need to board the bus now, they have to go, they really have to _go_. Sara asks continuously where Michael is and he ignores her each time. It doesn't leave her feeling very assured.

Sara's worried and paranoid and antsy; there's no reason to run so long as the meeting with the senator is legitimate. Sucre seems a bit uneasy, but he's going with the flow and saying that if this is what Michael wants, they must board the bus and get out of here. It takes a bit more prodding from Sara to get him to what she wants; they don't get on the bus, they don't leave the city, they don't run. Instead, they hail a taxi and head back to the warehouse in record time. It's a good thing they do, too. They hear gunshots emanating from inside. Sucre tells Sara to wait outside and he goes in armed, saving the day. Sara's sure that if they had listened to Michael, if they had left and hadn't come back for him, he and his brother would both surely be dead.

"I will kill you myself the next time you do something like that," Sara announces and walks into his awaiting arms as effortlessly as she had back in Evanston.

He's just as relieved to see her as she is him and his arms curl around her body, holding her tight. They're both safe, at least for now.

They're still out of options, but Michael's alive (_at least for now_) and right now, that's all Sara cares about.


	71. Just Business

Just Business

"Just so it's fresh in your mind, this isn't a magic elixir," Sara tells him sternly. "You still need a hospital, you need equipment… You could probably use a doctor who's still got a license to practice medicine."

"First we get Scylla," Michael repeats stubbornly. "Then I'll go to the hospital."

She nods, unsurprised. A blur of activity happens, then; they nearly suffocate from toxic fumes shot into the apartment, they hold Self and Gretchen at mutual gunpoint, they formulate a plan and send Sucre in the back of their car to follow them. It's all fun and games until the medicine injected into Michael's veins doesn't really work anymore. Sara says, "You're building up a tolerance."

"Then we'll up the dosage," He answers back.

"Yeah, I have," She tells him. "And at this point, a higher dosage would have more side effects than the tumor itself."

"Then I'll manage without it."

Lincoln enters the conversation then. "Sit this one out. Let me and Sucre handle it."

Michael, however, is still outrageously adamant and stubborn. "I'm going."

Annoyed and angered beyond belief, Lincoln walks away without a word. Michael sighs in his own form of frustration, addressing Sara, who is just as irritated as Lincoln is. "Why can't he understand I need to finish this? Everything that happened- it all started with The Company."

"Maybe not for Lincoln," Sara disagrees. "Maybe for him this all started with his little brother breaking him out of prison. Michael, you saved his life. If anything happens to you, he spends the rest of his life feeling guilty for that."

He sighs; she's right but he's too angry, too involved to admit it. She presses on. "Tell me something- at what point does a noble deed become fanaticism?"

"Fanaticism is the only way to beat them!" Michael insists.

"Even if it kills you?" Sara implores, remaining calm despite her growing agitation.

Their mutual irritation ends the conversation because neither one of them can make the other see the error in their ways.

* * *

Michael has Scylla and he's running with everything he has. He rounds the corner into a back alley and he's going to make it, he's sure of it. But then a sharp, stabbing pain, like a bolt of lightning, flashes through his brain and he can't think straight anymore. He stops running, he slows to a walk, and then a stagger before he can't even lift his feet. The alleyway seems to lengthen and narrow before widening and stopping short and Michael can't figure out what is going on or where he's supposed to go. He doesn't know what he's running from; he doesn't know what he's running towards. He's got a package under his arm and he's not sure what it is or why it's so important. What is going on? Where is he?

He hears sirens in the background they're loud and close and sound like they're coming to him from a tunnel all the same. Michael presses on because he's sure he was supposed to do _something_, but he can't remember what it was and he feels like his head is going to explode and he isn't sure if that fence before him is bouncing and swimming on purpose or if it's all in his head. He feels something damp hit his upper lip and suddenly tastes something coppery and warm; blood. Did he cut himself? Why is he bleeding? The world swirls and spins around him and he feels as though he's in a snow globe, being shaken and stirred without control of the situation. His nose is spouting blood like a faucet, now, and he takes two more shaky steps before collapsing to the ground.

His body is tossed into the back of a van and Michael thinks he can just barely make out the shouting voice of his brother before he slips into a deep unconsciousness.

* * *

The moment Sara realizes Self and Gretchen have been spying on them, she realizes they must now also have the chip; the last piece of leverage they had had against The Company and Self is now back under their control. She is defeated and angry, but so long as Michael had obtained Scylla, surely they'd be able to figure out a way to get the last piece of the puzzle. She and Sucre meet up with an out of breath Lincoln outside the hotel, who is tripping over his own words trying to tell them what happened. Michael had been taken away in a dark van, most likely by Company operatives, and Sara's heart drops into the pit of her stomach. When they head back to the warehouse, Lincoln confirms what they'd already known to be true- Self and Gretchen have the chip as well.

"He's sick, Lincoln," Sara cries, feeling as though the ground she's standing on is crumbling into pieces. "If they haven't killed him already…"

"We're going to get him back," Lincoln says firmly, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "I promise."

She turns away and wraps her arms more firmly around herself. She feels like she's going to be sick; the last conversation she'd had with Michael had ended with both of them angry and irritated with one another. If that's the last conversation she _ever_ has with him, she'll never forgive herself. Lincoln receives another call and heads out without another word but Sara can't be bothered to ask where he's going. She's much too content to drown here in her own sorrows. Sara isn't sure why she's always put through this kind of torture; surely she's had enough for one lifetime, right? She loves Michael so incredibly much and she wants nothing more than to find him, to get him the medical attention he needs and to be by his side during the recovery. But she doesn't know where Michael is and, more likely than not, The Company's going to hold him against his will.

And she's in no position, right now, to be making demands of The Company.


	72. Going Under

Going Under

The moment Lincoln calls from Company headquarters, Sara's out of the warehouse like a bat out of hell. She wants to know immediately what's going on and where Michael is and, oddly, Lincoln is calm when he tells her he's right downstairs and that he's going to have surgery right here with Company doctors attending him. The General enters, then, to tell her all about Michael's condition and that they have no qualms with saving his life. Sara's still left wondering what they're trying to get at. There is no way their motives are pure but she can't figure out why they'd want to save him. Lincoln tells her everything will be alright and to trust him; Sara shoots him a look that reads, _I do trust you. I don't trust _them.

When they finally bring her to Michael, he looks relieved to see a familiar face. She's at his side in an instant and he visibly relaxes. The attending nurse begins to explain the procedure to them. "Mr. Scofield, although you're going to be anesthetized and should feel no significant pain, we will need to keep you awake for the duration of the procedure. As a safety precaution, we need to continually monitor your speech and sensory activity to ensure the tissue being removed will not leave you impaired in any way."

It's a lot to take in and Sara can tell he's most likely absorbed none of it in his current state. He asks wearily, "What hospital is this?"

"Don't worry about it," Sara reassures him. "You've got some good doctors who are going to take good care of you."

"I have to get Scylla," He says next and makes a move to get up.

"No, no, no," Sara disagrees, gently guiding him to lie back against the headrest. "Not now."

"Where's Linc?" He breathes and Sara glances behind them at the brother in question standing beside the General.

"He's here," Sara states simply and decides to forego the explanation of why just yet.

She stays with him until she cannot anymore. When the nurses inform her they're ready to begin, Sara nods over to the pane of glass and tells Michael, "I'm going to be right over there the entire time."

"I'll be right in here the whole time," He tells her with an optimistic smile.

"I'm not going to leave you, okay?" Sara promises him, punctuating both of her statements with a kiss to his temple. "Don't you dare leave me."

Just the thought of this makes her eyes sting. When she reaches her perch behind the glass observation window, Michael smiles reassuringly at her and she returns it, finding it so strange that he's the one assuring her he'll be okay even though he's the one in surgery. She asks the nurse about the success rate of the gamma knife and she informs Sara that they won't be using the gamma knife, not this time. This is news to Sara and she can't say she's pleased to know they're straying from what Sara knows will work. She watches as the neurologist drills into Michael's skull and bites her nails down to the skin. It's terrifying and harrowing and a pang of nausea teases the very pit of Sara's stomach.

There are needles being prodded into Michael's brain, now, and Sara asks if they're for stabilization. They're not; they're for the stimulation of different parts of Michael's cerebral cortex, a sort of makeshift version of his life flashing before his eyes. Sara asks at least a dozen more questions and she's sure the nurse is going to be very irritated with her, but she needs to know _exactly_ what's going on and she has to busy her mind, somehow. She can't allow for her thoughts to wander because, clearly, they'll end up somewhere she doesn't want them. Without even thinking these thoughts, Sara feels another bout of nausea and has to lean against the window frame for support.

She feels a presence behind her and jumps nearly out of her skin. The General says, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"What are you doing here?" Sara asks uneasily.

"Customer service. Quality control," He tells her. "I like to keep a hand in all our theaters of engagement."

"Spoken like a military man," She states bitterly. "So easy to discuss lives in the balance when it's just theater."

"I admire your devotion, Sara," The General quips. "It's an attribute I value above all others but I wonder, is it the cause that you believe in or the man?"

She ignores him, sure he's about to insult her, insult _them_. She's right. "I mean, are you an ideologue? Or just a silly schoolgirl following the brooding boy who finally noticed her?"

"I'm the girl whose father was murdered," Sara deadpans. "Who's looking for the bastard responsible."

"Would you like me to make a few phone calls?" The General offers. "See if I can point you in the right direction?"

She ignores this too. Instead, he tells her, "You can relax. He's receiving the best possible care."

"Is he? Because I've never seen this equipment before," Sara muses. "And I've never seen this procedure. It's experimental, isn't it?"

"Well, you could say that. But it has been used once before."

_Once_. That's not enough for a simple surgery, let alone opening up a person's skull. Sara is not put at ease one bit. When he leaves, she gets a closer look at the monitors, or at least tries to, and notes that the tumor is closer to a different part of his brain as well. The attending nurse exits the operating room when Sara beckons for her and explains that the growth had spread from the hypothalamus to the hippocampus as well. This is not the greatest of news; Sara asks if the removal will result in memory loss and the nurse tells her that if it does, Michael will never have known the memories were there, anyway. None of this makes her feel better.

But then, she feels even worse. Michael's eyes close slowly and his body gives a jolt. The nurse leaves Sara's side immediately in order to assess the situation and Sara's left in the dark. His blood pressure's dropping and Sara watches as they increase his dopamine delivery rate, but none of this seems to help. Machines are beeping and whirring and Michael isn't responding; Sara watches in horror as the EKG spikes and his heart rate drops dangerously low. She hears one doctor shout orders and another yell back that they're losing him. Sara's heart is racing and her eyes are filling with tears and she wants to scream and vomit and cry. He begins to flat-line. She's shouting at Michael from behind the glass and he can't hear her wherever he is so she _has_ to get closer.

"What's going on? Why's he crashing?" Sara asks, bursting into the room and sitting on the bed beside him.

"Miss Tancredi, you can _not_-"

"No, no, it's okay. It's okay."

"Don't do this," Sara pleads with a lifeless Michael. "Don't do this."

There's a high-pitched electric sound and she knows they're powering up the defibrillator. "Don't go. We are _not_ finished with this yet. Michael, not like this. It doesn't happen like this! You promised me we would finish this together!"

She knows the doctors can hear the desperation in her voice, but they aren't helping her at all. They're standing around, as if they've already given up, and Sara shouts at them, "Would you do something?!"

A doctor or two make the slightest movement at her shouting; the rest continue to stand there uselessly. "Michael, don't leave," Sara whispers. "Don't give up."

They inject a mysterious clear liquid into his left arm. Sara doesn't know what it is, but if it saves his life, she doesn't care. "Michael, don't give up. _Don't give up_."

The unmistakable sound of the flat line fills her ears and the tears welling in her eyes threaten to spill over. "Michael," She whispers, her heart breaking over his name. The doctors are all beginning to stand back and allow her to say her goodbyes, but Sara refuses to leave his side, to give up.

And then- Michael inhales sharply, as if the powers that be had shaken him back to life. His eyes swim around the room for a moment before coming to rest on her. She's paralyzed with shock and fear, but when he speaks, it all melts away. "Sara…"

Sara sighs in relief, bending forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He closes his eyes, too, and says her name again and she'll never get enough of it. Sara had begged him not to leave her and he'd kept his promise (_it was touch and go there, for a second_) and come hell or high water, they could handle anything else. She doesn't leave his side for the remainder of the surgery and the doctors let her stay. When they've finished and they lean him backwards into a lying position so he can rest, Sara doesn't bother to leave, either. He's groggy and disoriented, but he manages to slip in a few witty comments, so she knows he's still the same. He apologizes, too, for giving her a heart attack and she gratefully accepts it. At some point, they must both fall asleep, because she awakens cramped and stiff a few hours later and sits, wiping the dried tears from her eyes and running a hand through her unruly hair.

"You look beautiful."

Sara glances over to find Michael's wide awake and staring right at her, but he must still be doped up on drugs, because she knows she looks like a mess. "You're a liar."

He reaches upwards and touches the bandage around his skull lightly. "How'd it go?"

"They're still running some tests, but they feel pretty confident they got it all," Sara informs him, gripping one of his hands and smiling when he covers it with his free one.

"And what is this place?"

"You should know something about your surgery," Sara says. "It was performed by Company doctors and the General made all the arrangements."

Michael looks confused. "Why?"

"I don't know. Lincoln's handling it; he says he has a plan," Sara tells him. "I'll be honest, right now you're alive and that's kind of all I care about."

"You're going to laugh, but I had a dream about Scylla," Michael says, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. He's right; she laughs. "The only thing we really know about it is what Self told us."

"You need to rest."

"I'm serious," Michael insists. "What if it's not just The Company's little black book? What if it's… something more?"

Sara sits up to meet his eye. "Like what?"

"Something good," Michael says and Sara thinks he might be onto something. "Why go through so much trouble to protect information about the past? Information The Company could just delete any time they wanted to?"

"The General said, as long as we have Scylla, we have power," Michael goes on, grabbing the notepad from the nightstand. "I don't think he was talking about power like control, I think he was talking about energy."

He draws four separate elements deriving from the periodic table. "Boron, Argon, Gallium, Indium. Bargain. There's a theory that if you can find a way to combine these elements to design a solar cell, you can harness one hundred percent of the sun's energy."

"With that kind of power," Michael finishes. "The possibilities are limitless."

"It would certainly explain all the security around Scylla," Sara says. "They're not protecting the past, they're protecting the future. I wonder what else is on it. I mean, with the equipment you were treated with and the drugs they gave you, none of it exists on the open market."

"Which would explain why some people are willing to pay millions and millions to get their hands on Scylla," Michael adds. "It's not about taking down The Company; it's about _becoming_ The Company. It's about knowing what they know; controlling what they know."

Sara sighs. "What do we do now?"

He doesn't have an answer for her just yet, but Sara knows they'll be able to figure something out.

Suddenly, they have options and choices again. Suddenly, they're back in the game.


	73. The Sunshine State

The Sunshine State

Sara's not sure what's happening. One moment, she leaves the room to freshen up and when she returns, Michael isn't there anymore. Two Company operatives tell her he's been moved to a much more secure location to recover and when she asks where and how to get there, they don't answer. They lead her into a darkened SUV, check in her into a five-star hotel and after an hour or so, they send her flowers to comfort her and a fruit basket for snacking purposes. She doesn't give a shit about comfort or snacks; she wants to know where Michael is. Pacing around the hotel, Sara isn't sure what to do next. She doesn't have any information on where he could possibly be, so it isn't like she can go looking for him. Just when she's about to lose it, her phone rings and she anxiously answers.

"Hello?"

"_Sara, it's me._"

Sara's glad to hear Lincoln's voice. Perhaps he'll know what to do. "Where are you?"

"_Miami. The guy who took Scylla's here._"

"So, you're actually trying to get it back for The Company?" She questions incredulously.

"_I'm going to give it back to The Company so we can walk away from this. How's Michael?_"

"I don't know," Sara sighs in frustration. "Two guys from The Company came and they brought me to a hotel and I was given flowers and a fruit basket and no information on Michael. Is Fernando with you?"

"_Sucre split. We left some messages with Mahone telling him where we were. That was two cell phones back._"

Now she's confused; if Sucre and Alex aren't with him, then who is he working with? "I'm sorry; who's 'we'? Who are you with?"

"_People I don't trust_."

It isn't too hard to put two and two together. Sara says, "Listen, I know why you did it and I'm grateful to you, because he was going to die. But do you really think they're just going to let us live when we give them Scylla?"

"_You know what, Sara? I'm doing my best. Just… Just call me if you hear anything about Michael. Please._"

Sara knows this is true, but she can't help but feel like they should be doing _something_ else. Giving Scylla back to The Company isn't going to solve their problems; the country is still going to fall apart, the General will still be in control and innocent men and women are still going to lose their lives. She's also pretty confident in the fact that if and when Lincoln actually _does_ turn Scylla back over to the General, he wouldn't be leaving without a bullet in the back of his head. She's sure Michael would agree with her, but she can't be _too_ sure, because she hasn't seen him or talked to him recently to ask.

Sara decides enough is enough and heads back over to The Company's headquarters to try a different approach. The General tells her that she is best kept at a distance from Michael right now and that in a week or so, he'd be returned to her. Sara frowns; she isn't that patient. But nothing she says can change his unwavering state of mind, so she's forced to leave. It's back to pacing the hotel room they've given her; that is, until she receives a text from an unknown number claiming to have significant information. Sara has no choice; she goes, despite the possible danger awaiting her. And danger there is; a bag is pulled over her head, her wrists are bound and she's thrown into the back of a van. But she's taken to Lisa Tabak who gives the address where Michael is being held and tells her to move quickly; they aren't just casually hanging out. With this new information, Sara does as she's told; she moves quickly, calling Lincoln first to inform him on the changing ideals.

"Lincoln, you don't understand," Sara says, haphazardly throwing her belongings into her bag. "The way she said recruit made my stomach turn. They're going to torture him."

"_He can take care of himself at least for one day until we get Scylla_."

"Lincoln, he needs to be in the ICU!" She shouts back and can hear him sigh.

"_What's your plan? Break him out?_"

"I don't know," Sara's frantic. "I don't have one."

"_Look, you're putting him and us at risk. Just stay in the hotel until we get back to L.A._"

There's no _way_ she's doing that. She hangs up and gets her keys.

* * *

Michael doesn't know where Sara and Lincoln are, but he knows they're nowhere to be found in this woodsy cabin they're keeping him in. He isn't sure why he's here, at first, but once he meets with one of the Company operatives, Michael knows they're trying to recruit him. But he won't allow them this satisfaction; they may have had Aldo and his mother, they may have gotten Lincoln, but there is no _way_ he's allowing them to get him too. He heads to the bathroom and rummages through the cabinets, looking for anything to give him the advantage he needs to get out of here. He finds some drain cleaner, is reminded of those days in Fox River and of cute poison, before formulating a makeshift plan to get himself far away from this house of Company operatives.

The water heater explodes and takes out three of the four operatives holding him back. Michael snatches the gun that clatters to the floor and holds the tallest man at gunpoint, forcing him to inject the doctor with the strange liquid that had been reserved for him and to handcuff himself to the bedpost. With that, Michael is out of the door like a bat out of hell, ducking behind trees and slinking around bushes. They must've already gotten the word out that he'd escaped, because soon, sleek SUVs are racing about to canvass the area and others are taking off on foot. He's running for his life and he's running blindly, because he doesn't know where he is and he doesn't know where to go. He can hear dirt being torn up by squealing rubber tires and knows they're on his trail. In mere seconds, there is a slew of gunshots and he's caught, defeated.

And then, as he turns around, a military-green Jeep comes speeding down the road and smashes directly into the buggy the operatives had been piloting. Michael watches in shock as it tumbles down the ravine, effectively silencing the men who just seconds before had been holding him at gunpoint. It takes him a minute to realize it's Sara behind the wheel and he hadn't been expecting it and he's grateful for it all the same. She shouts for him to get in and doesn't have to tell him twice; he races around the side of the Jeep and climbs into the passenger seat as Sara tears off down the road. Once again, she'd saved his life. Michael's beyond grateful, but he's shocked into speechlessness and isn't sure what to say.

They stop a few miles down and Sara asks, "What happened? You haven't said a word."

It's mainly because he doesn't know if he can find the words to explain what he's feeling right now. So, he just tries the truth. "I think my mother's alive."

Her facial expression matches the exact way Michael feels right now and he isn't sure what to do next.


	74. The Mother Lode

**Hello all! Sad, right, that we're almost done? It's kind of crazy; I mean, I've been writing these forever, it seems. But I've also been planning out my next story- you can't get rid of me now! Hahaha! Okay, so a quick note before we start- the next chapter/episode is when Sara finds out she's pregnant and, to be honest, when it happened in the show I was kind of blindsided by it. It came out of nowhere; she hadn't even had any symptoms! So, what I tried to do here was include some subtle (maybe not so subtle now that I'm telling you this lol) hints towards her temperament and how she's feeling. I don't know if you've noticed, but she's been feeling nauseous for the past few chapters... Can't imagine why. ;)**

**Thanks for the reviews as always and enjoy!**

* * *

The Mother Lode

They drive that beat-up old Jeep all the way to Arizona, determined to get to Miami as soon as possible to obtain Scylla before Lincoln does. Sara had informed him about everything Lincoln had agreed to in order to save his life and though Michael is grateful for the life-saving medical treatment, he is absolutely furious that Lincoln would sign his life away to The Company so easily. He knows for a fact that if and when Lincoln does retrieve Scylla, there is no way he is walking away from this without a sure death sentence. Michael knows they must work faster in order to turn Scylla into someone other than the General, especially knowing what they now know about it. They'll iron out the details later.

After stopping for gas and a quick lunch break, Sara consults the map. "Twenty-five hundred miles to go."

"If we take turns sleeping, we can be there by tomorrow night," Michael figures.

Sara inquires, "Should we call Lincoln and let him know we're coming?"

Michael doesn't respond. He's not sure he could even speak to his brother right now, that's how angry he is with him. He knows Sara can sense this and she attempts to reason with him. "Michael, he took The Company's deal to save your life. For what it's worth, I might have done the same thing."

"Then you'd be wrong, too," Michael says and regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth.

Hurt flashes in her eyes and she gets in the car gingerly, as if he's physically wounded her. Michael knows he's crossed a line, but he's not sure how to apologize without admitting his irrational anger towards his brother is ridiculous (he's much too proud to admit that). Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, "You know, this promises to be a really, really long ride so why don't we just… call truce, alright?"

She doesn't say anything and Michael sighs in defeat, moving to open the door. "I forgot napkins."

The windshield explodes, just then, and napkins are never retrieved. Michael shouts for Sara to get down as more bullets come flying their way and they scramble around to the back of the vehicle. Their previous mutual annoyance ebbs away and the only thing on their minds, now, is survival. They race through the parking lot, ducking behind cars and slinking around the building as the gun continues to fire and a bullet misses them by mere inches. There's nowhere to go but through this boat yard and they crouch behind an RV, breathing heavily and their eyes darting every which way in paranoia. Michael asks if Sara's okay and she nods fiercely. When it seems as though there isn't anymore danger, they sneak around, hail a taxi and are out of there in a flash.

"Okay," Sara exhales. "What now?"

Michael is confident. "We'll think of something."

"Michael, we can't afford to buy a car and we can't fly," Sara reasons. "I think it's time to call your brother."

He doesn't want to admit defeat, but Sara's right; they're out of options. Michael dials Lincoln's number and the other line picks up almost instantaneously. But the conversation doesn't go well; they spend the entire time blaming the other for the hostility between the two. He knew calling his brother was a terrible idea. He's even angrier now than he was when he started. Michael can't believe his brother is being this obtuse about this situation. How he can't see that this was an awful idea to begin with is beyond Michael's comprehension level. Lincoln keeps trying to justify taking the deal, but Michael's not having any of it. You can't justify going to work for The Company, not after everything they've done.

"_Look, I did this for us. You, me, Sara, LJ; so you can be with Sara. Two seconds- think of your family_."

And it's a horrible accusation, because that's all Michael ever thinks about. He hangs up, but not before dropping the major bomb that their mother is in fact very much alive. Not waiting for a reaction, he tucks the phone into his pocket at the sight of Sara, who looks panicked when she tells him, "Michael, we have to get out of here."

There's a police car looming in the distance and Michael knows she's right. He bribes a truck driver with one hundred dollars in gas money and this secures them a ride to Dallas in the back of an eighteen-wheeler. It's rumbling and shaky and not at all comfortable; Sara looks uneasy, as if she's going to be sick. He wishes there was another way to get out of here and longs for their trusty Jeep, wondering who will find it and their abandoned, napkin-less pizza. But it's futile, because it won't be them. Sara settles herself on the blanket beside him and asks him about his mother. Michael realizes, grimly, that this is the first time they've ever been really and truly alone ever since being reunited following the ordeal in Panama. He hopes with everything that he has that it isn't the last.

"She used to bake cookies when we'd come home from school," Michael tells her. "And play kickball with us in the backyard. There's just no way that woman was a Company agent."

"You did read her file, didn't you?" Sara wonders.

"I saw medical reports," Michael corrects. "That said she had the same diagnosis I did. The Company doctors operated on her, too. Now I'm wondering if they took her off to a little cabin in the woods after they were done and introduced her to a friendly shrink. How else could someone just stand by and watch while their own children were hunted down like dogs?"

"Maybe she didn't know," Sara offers gently.

Michael disagrees. "She knew."

"Maybe it was over her head."

"Or maybe she didn't care," Michael sighs. "Anyway, I'm just surprised the General waited so long to drop this bomb on us."

"Actually, I think that part makes sense," Sara tells him and he glances over at her as she explains. "I mean, for whatever reason, your mother didn't want you to know she was alive, or you would have known years ago. And the General was just keeping that secret, right? Keeping her happy, keeping her _working_."

Well, it makes sense when she puts it like that. "But now, the game is changed."

"Yeah, now he thinks you might be useful," Sara agrees.

Michael nods. "Just like Mom."

They're quiet for just a moment more before the dam overflows and suddenly, Michael cannot stop talking about his mother. It's all coming out, anecdote after anecdote, story after story, and Sara seems to be enjoying getting a look at his past. "So on my sixth birthday, my father was long gone by then and so it was just me and Mom and Linc and Mom hands me my present. My, uh, my only present and I just _know_ it's the Millennium Falcon!"

Sara, in amusement, asks, "With the battle alert sounds?"

"Exactly," He confirms.

"I totally had that."

"Of course you did," Michael teases. "Anyway, I had been asking for this thing for weeks and the package is just the right size and I rip open the wrapping paper… And it's a birdhouse."

"Oh no," Sara expresses, though she's grinning out of entertainment.

"Yeah," Michael nods. "Except, it's not even a birdhouse; it's a birdhouse _kit_."

Sara bursts into laughter, gripping onto his hand for faux consolation. "I'm so sorry."

"I didn't talk to her for two days after that," Michael smiles in memory. "When she finally got me to open the thing, we sat there and put it together piece by piece and it was the first thing I ever built. And I loved it. And she knew I would; she knew me better than I knew myself."

"That's what moms do, right?" Sara comments poignantly.

"Yeah, but the strange thing is, even though I haven't seen her for twenty-three years, there's this part of me that feels like maybe she still does," Michael admits.

But before either of them can comment on this feeling, there's the unmistakable sound of a siren glaring in the distance.

And Michael's suspicions are confirmed.

* * *

The eighteen-wheeler slows to a stop and Sara knows they're in trouble. She and Michael freeze; they don't speak, they don't move and they barely even dare to _breathe_. If the driver tells the police about the two people he's transporting, they're in _deep_ shit. They hear the latch to the back door being pried open and she and Michael dart behind a stack of vending machines in order to hide. When the door latches shut, they believe they're safe again; that is, until the sound of a gunshot echoes through the back of the truck and the wheels spin as the engine roars back to life. They're speeding down the highway and there is most likely a Company agent behind the wheel, taking them either back to the awaiting arms of the General or to a slow and painful death.

Sara suggests they call Lincoln, but Michael doesn't get a signal when he pulls out his cell phone. Sara's sure they're both going to die if they don't get out of here _fast_. Michael's up in a moment, searching the walls of the truck for the side door, because the main door is latched and locked from the outside. Michael rigs up a quick and easy magnetic lever system and as he's yanking it and the doors are just starting to open, the handle breaks off and they're back at square one. It doesn't take them too long to come up with a plan B, though, which is good because they're running out of time. They attach an abandoned tether to the water bottle vending machine closest to the door, yank with all their might and the door bursts open- their exit point.

Michael glances over at her as the ground races and swims beneath them. "Ready?"

She nods and without any hesitation, they throw themselves out of the moving truck and land harshly on the ground below. Assuring the other is alright, they scramble to their feet and take off running once again. The agent is on their tail, but he isn't trying to fire at them, which Sara finds very strange. There's an abandoned neighborhood out here in the middle of nowhere and they decide to head in that direction, because there is literally no other option. Entering a house that looks as though it had been destroyed by a fire or some other natural disaster, they creep carefully and quietly through each empty room, crouching in the corner a moment to catch their breaths.

"We're not going to make it back to the truck," Sara notes and Michael nods.

"I know," Michael whispers back and uses the hand that's not anchored on her back to hand her a lead pipe. "Here, take this. I'll be right back."

"Michael," Sara calls after his retreating form. "_Michael!_"

But he's gone; she brandishes the pipe like a baseball bat, ready to strike. She doesn't have to, however; moments later, Michael attacks the agent from behind and he falls right before her, cracking his skull on a cinderblock. Michael asks, "You alright?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sara replies in shock.

Michael pries the man's wallet and a curious slip of paper from his coat pocket. "The General should know by now not to mess with us."

"The General… didn't send me," The man manages to utter before slipping away into the bittersweet release of death.

"Who did?" Michael demands. "Who sent you?"

He can't answer. Sara can't stop staring at the blood pooling on the cinderblock, seeping from the crack in his cranium. Her stomach, which has been churning and turning all afternoon, gives another lurch. Michael sighs and says, "We should get back to the truck. It's a long ride to Miami."

Sara nods quickly and follows him outside. But all of a sudden, her nausea increases ten-fold. She slows her steps, takes a few deep breaths and tries to tell herself she's okay. It doesn't work; less than ten seconds later, Sara drops to her knees and vomits into the dirt, coughing and sputtering and feeling absolutely dreadful. Michael kneels beside her, places a gentle hand on her back and asks, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," She says simply, wiping at her mouth. "I'm okay."

He looks incredibly worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Sara nods. "I'll be alright, just… Let's get back to the truck?"

Michael agrees hesitantly and guides her to a standing position, keeping an arm around her the entire walk back. When they do eventually make it to the truck, he latches all the doors as she makes herself comfortable in the passenger seat. He gets behind the wheel and offers her one of the hundreds of water bottles from the back. She gratefully accepts and downs half of it as he watches in concern. "Sara…"

"I'm okay," She repeats. "Just drive."

"If you're sick," Michael offers, turning the ignition as the engine rumbles to life. "We can stop somewhere and rest until you feel better. I don't want you to do this if you're not feeling up to it."

"Thank you, but we don't have time to stop," Sara insists. "And I'm not sick; I'm fine. Let's just go."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Michael pulls back onto the highway, but continues to shoot her side-glances the entire drive and asks continually how she's feeling and if she's going to vomit again. Sara honestly doesn't feel sick anymore and she isn't sure why she got sick earlier. Surely, she's seen people die before and she hadn't had this reaction. It's always jarring and it never gets any easier, but it had also never made her physically ill. But today isn't the first day she'd felt nauseous all day; in fact it had been happening for about a week now. She'd chalked it up to stress and not knowing whether Michael would pull through or not, but now, she's not so sure.

There has to be something else going on… but _what_?


	75. VS

VS

When they finally reach Miami, Sara remembers she has a former colleague who has a vacation condo in the area and hopes Deb won't mind too much if she and Michael make it their home for a little while. The area is full of college kids on fall break lathering themselves with suntan lotion and getting themselves ready for wet t-shirt contests and body shots. Michael jokes about how, if things get too stressful, they could always join in and how Sara could teach him how to properly party, and Sara only responds with a bout of nervous laughter. She's still trying to figure out why she'd been struck with constant nausea and why, yesterday, she'd lost her lunch in the middle of nowhere. She is a doctor, however, and it doesn't take her too long to do the math and figure it out.

Unlocking the door to Deb's place, Sara explains, "She only uses the place in the winter, so we should be fine for a while here."

She locks the door behind them and notices Michael's looking over the wall of family photos. She points out, "And that's Deb."

"Were you guys in college together, too?" Michael asks and Sara shakes her head.

"No, just medical school. She's got a practice in New York and comes down here once a year to teach a seminar," Sara's eyes drift from happy family photo to happy family photo and her heart aches a little, yearning for what her friend has. "God, good for her."

"Nice family photos," Michael agrees, following her into the kitchen. "Sand, sun, cheesy matching outfits… We could have that, if we wanted, someday."

Sara nods, grinning, and hopes he means it, because she wants it, she wants it _so_ badly. He's grinning too and the look in his eyes has never been more genuine. The azure hue of his piercing eyes swirls and intensifies and Sara would like nothing more than to crawl in and drown in them. It becomes too much, then, and Sara excuses herself, heading down the hall towards the bathroom with one thought in mind. Closing the door behind her, Sara uses it to hold herself upright and draws in a few deep breaths, slow and calm, to relax her nervous energy. She stares at herself in the mirror for a minute, willing herself to continue, to confirm what she knows to be true, before opening the medicine cabinet and rummaging for the item of her conquest. A moment later, she finds it and can't look at herself, now. She's afraid of the judgment.

Just like in the books and movies and TV shows she'd read and seen her entire life, the results only take two minutes. Sara can't breathe; she can't look at it. She watches as the control line appears and then, faint at first but rapidly growing darker, a tiny blue plus sign appears in the window as well. She's pregnant; she knew she was pregnant. All signs pointed to pregnancy and she _still_ hadn't wanted to believe it. Michael had made elaborate plans for the two of them when this is all over all those weeks ago, plans which included children, and Sara wants it _so_ badly, but she doesn't want it right now. She doesn't know how long it's going to take to retrieve Scylla and tear down The Company, but she can't do any of those things while she's pregnant and she can't bring a child into a world where these people still exist. It isn't long before she's crying because she wishes they'd been more careful (she's not sure they were _ever_ careful) and she doesn't know what to do.

She refuses to tell him though. She can't add more of a burden to his shoulders, especially now. Sara wipes her tears, tucks the positive pregnancy test into her pocket and wills herself to calm down. When she reenters the living room, Michael is trying to crack the code on the mysterious sheet of paper they'd found the day prior in the agent's wallet. He says, "Look at this. Yesterday he found us on interstate ten, near route four in Arizona."

"And MS are your initials," Sara fills in. He nods.

"Of course, this could be anything," He says, gesturing towards the bottom half.

"I'll do a search on Rockwell and we'll figure it out." Sara offers, heading to the computer.

"Assuming Lincoln hasn't already," Michael states. "He's been here three days and he's got access to Company resources. Once he puts his mind to something, that's it. Even if he figures out he's wrong."

"Well, from what I've gathered, he doesn't think he is wrong," Sara tells him.

"Well, if I'm MS," Michael wonders, lifting the sheet of paper once more. "Who's VS?"

Sara doesn't know, but she is doing everything she can to get information about the other parts of the coded message. They have plans that afternoon to meet with Lincoln downtown, but when they arrive, they see Alex Mahone instead. He basically tells them everything that Lincoln had anyway; they're only working with the General so they can end this and walk away. Neither Michael nor Sara believe this and they come away from the conversation with just as much information as when they started. When they return to the condo, Sara goes back to researching B23 Rockwell as Michael figures out, "So the guy posing as a cop yesterday must have been working for my mother."

It still sounds strange to hear him say this. Or, maybe she's just super sensitive to the word 'mother' right now. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right."

"If he was following her instructions that much, I guess that means she wants the two of us transported somewhere," Michael explains. "At least she didn't want us killed. I guess I should be grateful."

"Does this change anything?"

"No," He disagrees. "The fact that she thrived in The Company at the expense of everyone else… makes me want to take them down even more."

"Okay," Sara says, tearing off a sheet of paper from the notepad she'd been writing on. "Rockwell Avenue, South Miami."

Michael takes it from her and nods. "Let's go."

Sara's both ready and she isn't, not really. She can't stand hiding this secret from him, but she certainly can't fathom telling him, either.

She imagines it's how he must have felt all those months ago in Fox River. This thought doesn't comfort her, because she knows how that one turned out.

* * *

The address takes them to a parking garage, which makes sense in retrospect, and they find the car designated for them in a matter of seconds. There's no way to get in, so taking a page out of his former cellmate's book, Michael snaps off the antennae of the closest truck near him and forces it into the window of the sedan, clicking the lock open. Sara jokes that, clearly, Sucre had been a good influence on him. Michael grins as they enter the vehicle and Sara searches the backseat and comes up with a briefcase. No itinerary, but there is a map to the airport, car keys, a cell phone and a gun. Michael's sure this has to mean _something_; this VS must be flying into the airport at four-thirty. On that theory alone, they drive off towards the airport.

On the way, the briefcase-phone starts to ring. Sara puts it on speaker and Michael answers, "Hello?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the line before they hear a woman's voice. "_Michael_?"

It's gone just as quickly, but Michael's hope is shattered. His mother is alive after all.

"Was that your Mom?" Sara asks and when he glances over at her, his face surely full of emotion, she looks just as upset as he feels. "Oh, Michael, I'm… I'm so sorry. I don't even know what to say."

"There's nothing _to_ say," Michael frowns and they press on.

When they reach the private landing strip, Sara tells him she'll be back in a moment and makes beeline for the bathroom. She's been acting very strangely these past couple of days, Michael's noticed. Perhaps she really _isn't_ feeling well and he just hasn't paid enough attention to her well-being. He's afraid she's vomiting again, so he knocks on the door and asks if she's alright. Sara tells him she is and a moment later, she returns, looking good as new. He'll keep an eye on her, just in case. She pretends to want to learn to fly and distracts the man behind the desk long enough for Michael to snatch the flight records right from under his nose. As he's flipping through the flight documents, Sara glances out the window and he can feel her tense beside him.

"Michael…"

He glances up, too, and sees two Company agents making their way inside. Sara says, "There was an exit by the bathrooms."

"Give me thirty seconds," He replies.

"They will kill us if they find us!" Sara reasons with him, urging him along.

"Vincent Sandinsky- VS," Michael reads. "N727MG. Let's go."

They manage to evade the operatives and persuade the flight director to allow them to take one of the members of Sandinsky's flight off by medical transport. It looks as if it's going to work, at first; they get him off the flight with no questions asked and are speeding away from the scene moments later. The giant range rover The Company is driving is miles away, so they're clear. But then, they catch up fairly quickly. Sara's doing her best to lose them, but she runs out of road and as Michael directs her towards the hangars, another range rover appears seemingly out of nowhere and blocks their path. There's panic in her voice when she asks him what to do and he tries to communicate with her wordlessly through the rearview mirror. She seems to understand; moments later, they step out of the vehicle and kneel into the dirt.

"What do we do with these two?"

"Kill 'em."

But then, shots are fired and they don't claim either of their lives. Michael dives forward and ushers Sara behind the car door, making sure she's protected as he assesses the situation. When he glances over, he sees yet another rover, but this one is piloted by Alex, by Lincoln and Self and T-Bag. He and Sara stand shakily and Lincoln comes over, tells them he warned them not to come, and holds them back as Self and Alex usher Sandinsky into their vehicle. Michael watches in horror as his own brother gets back into the car with a few Company agents, sure he's doing the right thing, though Michael knows he isn't. But, they do, at least, have an advantage. When they return to Deb's condo, Michael and Sara collapse on the couch and begin to go through Sandinsky's cell.

He had lied to them; not only did he know Christina, but they're working together.

Sandinsky's phone is the new path they'll take right to her awaiting talons.


	76. SOB

S.O.B.

They're waiting in an abandoned warehouse and Sara is filled with unwelcomed déjà vu. But Michael has a plan and who is she to argue? He's mixing a bunch of materials Sara's never even heard of and explains this will make for a deadly combination when combined with oxygen. She just goes with it, her mind elsewhere. She watches the door, watches for anyone about to discover them here, as Michael calls Lincoln to tell him that Vincent Sandinsky is not an innocent victim, but a pawn in The Company who is working with their mother on a plan he hasn't yet figured out. Lincoln hangs up, Sara can tell, before Michael can learn of his brother's plan and Sara sighs, wishing the two would just settle their differences already.

She approaches him, snapping the battery back into the phone they'd acquired. "You ready?"

"Almost," He says, pouring the mixture into plastic bags. "Is that Sandinsky's phone?"

"Yeah," Sara answers simply, snapping the back onto the phone. And because she's a woman of weakness, because she simply can't help herself, when Michael meets her eye and smiles a bit, she reaches up and kisses him. "Good luck."

"Thanks," He says softly. "I may need it."

But he doesn't, because his mother falls for exactly what they've planned. They watch from afar as she and her henchmen walk directly into the trap, as Christina exits the vehicle sputtering and coughing and choking on the air they've polluted, and then as she helplessly passes out. Sara opens the trunk, Michael tosses her in and then they head back to the condo in silence. They duct-tape her to a chair and wait patiently for her to awaken. Sara's not exactly looking forward to this conversation and is worried that this might push Michael over the edge; he's been through a _lot_ in the past few days and there has to be a breaking point somewhere. But he's sitting incredibly calmly and when Christina does awaken, his voice is even as he greets her.

"Alright," He begins. "Where is it?"

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?" She asks menacingly.

"Actually, I do," Michael shoots back. "Because your life depends on it. And considering your track record, I think it's safe to assume that you're always looking out for number one."

"I waited twenty-five years for this moment, Michael," Christina replies. "There's no way I can say everything I want to say."

"Why should I let you?"

"Because I'm your mother," Christina states simply. "That's something you can't change, something you can't take away."

Sara glances away from the scene guiltily; there's that word again- _mother_. Christina takes that moment, of course, to acknowledge her. "It's nice to meet you, Sara. In some ways, Michael's done very well for himself."

She doesn't respond; it doesn't deter Christina in the slightest. "In other ways, I'm not so sure. Lincoln's led you down a dark path."

Michael says, "I make my own decisions."

"You break Lincoln out of prison and he goes to work for General Krantz."

"And he has his reasons. But if you're looking for some kind of common ground between us, maybe that's it. I don't want to see Lincoln working for The Company, either."

"At least you've stopped making excuses for him."

"I stopped making judgments; something I couldn't afford," Michael corrects and when he glances over at Sara, she gives him an encouraging smile. "But that was a long time ago and that's not why we're here."

Christina then states that none of them wants to see Scylla end up back under The Company's control, so she proposes they strike up a deal. Michael seems to want to hear her out, but Sara's sure it's a trap. It does end up being one; she ignores his pleas for Scylla and instead changes the subject to talk about how similar they are. Christina speaks of understanding the way his mind works; how he looks at the big picture and sees all the little moving parts, just as she does. She says she _knows_ him and he'll never be able to beat her, not when she can sense his every move. Sara's not sure how this is possible when she'd been out of the picture for more than half of his lifetime. Michael tells her she's running out of time and retreats to the back bedroom. Sara glares at Christina, who shoots her a wicked grin, and follows him.

"I don't know," Michael says the moment she steps in the room and relaxes the tiniest bit as she wraps her arms around him. "I don't know. Maybe we should've… followed her, or something."

Sara kisses his shoulder, guides him towards the bed. "Sit down for me, please."

He sighs and does so as she suggests, "How about I talk to her? I might have some perspective. She didn't leave me when I was six."

Michael draws in a deep breath and exhales, nodding. "Okay."

She stands, presses a kiss to the top of his head and leaves the room. Christina seems to welcome her presence. "I'm sorry we had to meet this way, Sara."

"I'm sorry we had to meet at all," Sara tells her honestly. "Michael's been through a lot in the past year. At some point, it's going to be too much for him."

"Michael can handle it," Christina tells her. "He's never known a life without change."

Sara purses her lips. "You say that like you know him."

"Oh, I do," Christina nods. "Better than you."

"I don't see how that's possible," Sara shakes her head, smiling in amused irritation.

"Well you will," Christina insists. "When your child's born."

Sara freezes; there's no _way_ she knows… How could she? Still, she goes on, "See, I wasn't sure at first, but you do have that drawn look. And I've seen the way you protect yourself when you sense there's danger. You don't even know you're doing it; it's instinct."

"And what is it you know about maternal instinct?" Sara asks viciously.

Christina glances away. "I've tried to be a mother, even to Lincoln."

"How can you say that?" Sara accuses incredulously. "You _left_ them without so much as an explanation."

"Well, if Michael would listen-"

"You know what? You can stop," Sara cuts her off. "You can't justify what you did."

And she thinks, for a moment, she's got her. But then Christina smiles an awful, evil smile and Sara wants to take it all back. She taunts, "Michael doesn't know you're pregnant, does he?"

Sara feels as though she's a child being teased and bullied on the playground. Without another word, she leaves the living room and heads back into the bedroom where Michael is waiting anxiously. He must sense the frightened expression on her face, because he asks, "What happened?"

"Uh," She hesitates. "I got nothing."

Sara can sense he knows there's more, but she can't get into it, not here, not now.

She'll tell him when she's ready and not a moment before.

* * *

Whatever Christina had said to Sara had left her uneasy and knocked down a peg. Michael's done playing games; he leaves the bedroom and heads back out to where she's waiting patiently and completely undeterred. This isn't the woman he knew as his mother; who is she and what had she done with the cookie-baking, kickball-playing innocent woman who had cared for him when he'd been sick and taught him almost everything he knows? He slices the tape off of her appendages so she's free and goes back to his position before her. She begins talking nonsense about Lincoln, throwing accusations and ridiculous slander as casually as ever, and Michael wonders how a mother could so easily belittle her own child; especially when she's doing so in the company of her other son.

"You've always known it. You've just had no one to confirm it," Christina then tells her son. "Lincoln… isn't your brother."

It's bullshit; it _has_ to be. There is no way Michael is going to believe this no matter how hard Christina forces this upon him. She's saying it to mess with his head and he knows it. She begins spewing out some story about there not being any photos of Lincoln when he was a baby because Aldo adopted him when he was three; Lincoln's "real" parents were killed in some explosion Michael's sure she's making up. Christina says she never wanted Lincoln, that she never bonded with him like mother and son, and that his angry energy kept them apart. Michael was certainly very young when he last saw his mother, but every memory he has is telling him this isn't true; his angry energy hadn't appeared until they were forced through the foster care system and brought up on welfare. Christina is quite the storyteller, but she's not _that_ good.

"I can't believe you're playing this card," Michael tells her, even angrier than before.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Christina says. "But I felt differently about you. And you could tell."

"That's why you always felt guilty," Christina fabricates next. "That's why you were always throwing yourself over the cliff after Lincoln was already dead at the bottom. It's why you went to prison and pissed your life away."

"You don't know why I did the things I did!" Michael screams at her, his anger spilling over. "You weren't there!"

Christina is taken aback just a moment before wondering, "Who knows what you could have accomplished? But you always felt like you had to make less of yourself to make Lincoln look less pathetic in comparison."

"Lincoln was more of a brother to me than you were _ever_ a mother," Michael spits back, ready to ring her neck. "You left, he stayed. He fed me, kept me off the streets, put me through school."

"How?" Christina asks. "By getting in trouble over and over again, just like he is right now."

"What do you mean, right now?" Michael implores. "Where is he?"

"He's out looking for Scylla," Christina barely clarifies. "And he's not going to find it."

Michael's done with her blasé attitude and vague, unhelpful answers. He grabs her forcefully by the jacket and throws her to the ground. Letting his anger get the better of him, he yells at her to reveal where Lincoln is and when she doesn't, he steps over her, grabs her by the lapels of her jacket and begins to drag her down the hallway. It's like he has tunnel vision; he can't envision anything right now but his mother's death. He drags her helplessly into the bathroom, screaming at her the entire way as she continues to forgo his question. Michael smashes his mother against the lip of the tub, turns on the water and dangles her over the side, prepared to do _whatever it takes_ to get her to talk.

"_Michael!_"

And then, he stops, because when he glances back at Sara in the doorway, her horrified expression is all it takes for his tunnel vision to fade away. He stares back at her and her expression doesn't change; he's sure he's just become Paul Kellerman in her eyes, ready to leave his mother to drown as she was left months earlier. Michael feels an overwhelming sense of guilt, because though he hadn't minded hurting his mother, he _never_ wanted to hurt Sara and the fact that he had almost recreated history for her is absolutely killing him. He turns off the water and exits the bathroom, furious with himself and so incredibly guilty and wanting so badly to make up for what he just did to her. The emotion spills over as Sara follows him cautiously and fearfully, because he _never_ wants her to feel like she has to be afraid of him. But the look on his face must say it all; she doesn't shrink away, she embraces him.

"I'm sorry," Michael says instantly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to think."

Sara removes his hands from his face, replaces them with her own. "Go. Go find him. I got her. Go."

"If she gives you any trouble," Michael says absently, motioning towards the gun on the hutch. "If she gives you any trouble."

"I know," Sara says. "Just go."

So he does.


	77. Cowboys & Indians

Cowboys & Indians

Christina leaves Sara duct-taped around the wrists and mouth and she struggles to find something to free herself. There's a sound out front and the door opens and Sara's never been more grateful to see Alex Mahone in all her life. He rushes to her, gently peels the tape from her mouth and says, "Oh my God. Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Christina's gone," Sara informs him and has he attempts to free her, she nods towards the set of drawers. "There's a knife in the last drawer."

"Do you have any idea where she went?" Alex asks, retrieving the knife and cutting her loose.

"No."

"She has Scylla and she set up Linc and Michael," Alex tells her, helping her up from the floor. "She could be anywhere."

"Michael _and_ Lincoln?" Sara clarifies and Alex nods.

"Yeah, they were framed," Alex informs her. "For the murder of an Indian official. It's all over the news. That was Christina's plan and-"

Sara's heard enough, she goes to get her jacket and purse. "Where are they now?"

"They were trapped in the Panda Bay Hotel," Alex replies. "The police are looking for them."

"Okay," Sara says and makes a move for the front door just as Alex stops her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," He halts her. "You can't go there. The cops are everywhere."

"I really need you to get out of my way," Sara insists, but Alex is unwavering.

"Well, that's not going to happen," Alex states. "Look, you don't care for me, I don't care for you much either, but I owe Michael, okay? _Run_. He's in a sea of trouble right now."

"I'm not abandoning him."

"I'm not telling you to abandon him. But there's nothing you can do for him," Alex sighs. "Look, I'd run if I could run, but if I run they go after my wife. So I _have_ to jump back in; you don't."

"I'm not running," Sara disagrees adamantly. "I'll stay here, okay? That way, Michael knows where I am."

"So does Christina."

"If she wanted me dead, I would be already."

"Suit yourself."

As he turns to go, Sara calls after him. "Alex? Thanks. And if you see Michael, tell him I'm here."

"Yeah," He nods and then he's off.

Sara turns on the television to follow up on the story and gets an earful. An Indian official had been assassinated in the Panda Bay Hotel and the suspects are none other than Lincoln Burrows and Michael Scofield. She watches as the news anchors badmouth the brothers and is reminded of the last time this happened, right after the breakout. Before she can contemplate any further, however, there's a clicking sound somewhere in the house and Sara is immediately put on edge. She grabs the knife Alex had used to free her and goes to investigate. She feels an arm tuck around her neck and she struggles instantly, trying to stab her attacker but failing as he wrestles the knife from her grasp. It's T-Bag; she'd recognize that creepy southern drawl anywhere.

Somehow, she frees herself and runs through the house, heading for the door, but he's quicker than she is and tackles her to the ground. "Get your hands off of me, you son of a-"

"_Hand_," T-Bag corrects, pointing his gun directly at her forehead. "Not hands, thanks to your boyfriend."

Sara lies very still; she _knows_ T-Bag and she knows that if she doesn't cooperate, it'll only hurt her even more.

* * *

When Michael sets off the concussive blast and he and Lincoln sneak off and out of the hotel, he knows things are finally looking up. But when there are gunshots and a sketchy-looking Company operative tells him that the General wants them at the condo, Michael feels defeated all over again. They're escorted back to the condo and completely led away from all the press and police surrounding the hotel. Lincoln had asked earlier how it could be possible that he was set up for two high-profile murders and Michael can tell, even now that it's over and done with, that's all he's thinking about. Michael's just glad his brother is alive and well; his thoughts are now with Sara. The horrified look on her face had almost done him in.

Upon their arrival at the condo, Alex approaches Michael and the latter takes this opportunity to ask, "What's going on with Sara and my mother?"

"Christina escaped," Alex informs him quietly. "Sara's okay; she's in the condo."

"Excuse me," The General interrupts. "Would you boys like a little alone time to catch up?"

They ignore him; Michael's a bit deterred knowing Christina escaped, because he knows Sara wouldn't have let her go without a fight, so there must have been one. But he can't focus on this yet. They know Christina has Scylla and the General is demanding it even more than he was before. He, Lincoln and Alex head out to the bank where Christina is trying to make a withdrawal and try to formulate a plan, to hatch a scheme, in order to get Scylla back. When Alex comes up with one a moment later, it takes Michael all the way back to the very beginning- they're going to rob a bank.

They pull on their ski masks and it's nothing like the last time; Alex bursts in first and tells everyone to get down on the ground. Michael and Lincoln watch as their mother falters for a second and the Company operative with her reaches for his gun; Lincoln's quicker, however, and forces him to put it away. He and Michael snatch Scylla from Christina and take off down the street, Alex following behind them. There's gunfire awaiting them when they exit the bank and somehow they lose Lincoln in the crossfire. Alex and Michael make it to a back alleyway, waiting for Lincoln to catch up, but they've got Scylla, now, and they just need to figure out who to give it to.

Lincoln hasn't caught up yet; it's taking too long. Sure something's wrong, Michael goes to call him and receives no reply. Alex asks, "Michael, now that we have this, what the hell are we going to do with it?"

He doesn't know and he doesn't have time to think of an answer. His cell phone rings immediately after he's hung up and he says, "Linc?"

Wrong; it's the General. "_I heard about the bank robbery on the radio. You boys just can't stand to be out of the news, can you? I assume you've got Scylla?_"

Michael nods. "We're getting close. We'll keep you posted."

"_I wouldn't hang up just yet if I were you, son_."

There's a juggling sound on the end of the line before a different voice comes to him; a familiar one. "_Michael, we're in the apartment._"

His heart falls into the pit of his stomach; they'd gotten Sara. Before he can respond, however, the General goes on. "_I know you have it. Otherwise, Christina would have never risked a public shoot-out_._ Now, I'm going to make this easy for you. Bring me Scylla, or this time, Sara's death will not be faked._"

There's a clicking sound that tells Michael he's hung up. He's terrified and anxious and feels his resolve slipping; his hands are shaking and his heart is _pounding_. Michael feels a stabbing pain in his forehead much like the ones he'd become accustomed to when he'd had his tumor just as Alex asks, "What is it?"

"The General has Sara," Michael breathes in horror and Alex frowns, handing him the case that Scylla's contained in.

"Take it."

Michael's phone rings again a moment later and with all the anger in the world, he answers, "I swear, if you touch her-"

Wrong again. It's Christina- "_Hello, son? I believe you have something I want. And I have something you want, although I'll never really understand why._"

"Alright," Michael says evenly. "Maybe we can work something out."

"_I gave you the opportunity to work something out! You rejected me, Michael_."

"Look, let's meet and talk about this."

"_No, the time for talking passed about the time you put those ski masks on, don't you think? So here's what I'm going to do, Michael. I'm going to shoot Lincoln through the right rib cage, just grazing the lower quadrant of his right lung. It will slowly collapse, making it very difficult to breathe. If he doesn't get medical attention within five hours, he'll be dead._"

"Christina," Michael pleads, his voice cracking in emotion. "Mom, please!"

But there's an unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Michael cries out, "Linc!"

"_Second hand's spinning, Michael. Looks like you have a little decision to make. Scylla, or someone you love_."

The dull pain in his forehead increases ten-fold. Michael is shocked and horrified and, for the first time in his life, he actually does not know what to do.

There is _no_ right answer, no winner; not when he has to choose between his own brother and the woman he loves.


	78. Rates of Exchange

Rates of Exchange

"Let's just think this through, Michael," Alex pleads and Michael would love nothing more than to put Alex in his shoes and see how he fares in this situation, to see what he would do if he were placed with this impossible choice.

"I have," Michael assures him. "We're saving both."

"How?" Alex questions disbelievingly.

Michael sighs. "I will figure it out."

"Your brother's bleeding to death," Alex not so helpfully points out.

"I wonder if there's any way we can get Linc and Sara in the same place," Michael wonders aloud and Alex frowns.

"Right now, your only advantage is that neither party knows that there's another player that has leverage on you," Alex points out. "You bring them both together, you lose your tactical edge."

Michael is adamant, "I'm not abandoning Sara."

"I didn't say to do that," Alex shakes his head. "What I am saying is that Sara has the advantage of not having a bullet in her chest."

He has to admit Alex is right. Wherever Sara is and whatever they're doing to her (images of Kellerman and Gretchen and Panama won't get out of his head), at least she isn't _dying_. He knows choosing between the two is without a doubt the most difficult thing he's ever had to do and promises himself that he will, in fact, get both of them to safety, somehow. Right now, however, he needs to focus on getting his brother medical attention. He tells his mother to be at Edison shipping yard in forty-five minutes and rigs up a small explosion to wait for her when she gets there. But, she senses his plan, as usual, and doesn't fall for it; her bodyguards do, instead.

It had been a good idea in theory, but not in practice. Defeated, Michael and Alex head back to the drawing board in order to come up with another plan to free Lincoln without handing over Scylla. Michael calls Christina, then, to be sure that Lincoln is still alive and she sarcastically asks if the explosion had been meant for her, as if she didn't know already. He ignores her tone; she tries to get him again with an accusation of him embarrassing himself and saying that no matter what he does, he can't outthink her. Michael ignores everything his mother throws at him and asks to speak to Lincoln; she hesitates at first, but eventually grants his request.

"_Yeah?_"

"Hey," Michael greets him, much livelier than his brother. "It's nice to know you're still breathing. How much time do I have?"

"_Not much_."

"The General has Sara; he's giving me an hour to exchange her for Scylla," Michael informs his brother rapid-fire. "I need to know where you are, so if you can give me any kind of signal…?"

"_Don't know._"

"Look, if I'm going to save you both, I need something. Anything," Michael begs desperately, but he can tell Lincoln's running on fumes.

"_There's just not enough time, Michael._"

"I can do this, Linc," Michael disagrees. "I can _do_ this!"

"_There's something you need to know… Sara's pr… Sara's pregnant._"

And then, Michael's entire world flips on its axis. _Sara's pregnant_. He has a million questions- namely, how Lincoln found out before he did- but he doesn't have any time to ask them. This changes _everything_. Sara may have the advantage of not having a bullet in her chest, but she's _pregnant_; kill her, and you're killing _two_. Michael's suddenly filled with twice as much anxiety and apprehension; he needs to find her, to get her out of there- to get _them_ out of there. The thought of there being a child, a human life he and Sara had created, both terrifies and excites him all the same. He's filled with a tiny glimmer of hope; there's life after tragedy, after all. But he knows they can't bring a child into this world when it's still so far out of control and he must focus on the task at hand.

"_It's okay. You're going to be a Dad. Go to her, Michael_."

Michael knows he must, but he can't leave his brother behind. "I'll find a way, Linc."

"_There's not enough time. There's just not enough time. Let me go out knowing that I did something for you_-"

The phone is wrenched away from him before he can finish his thought. Michael calls out helplessly, "Linc?"

But he's gone. Michael hangs up the phone and suddenly sees the world in a whole new light.

He's going to be a father. But not if he doesn't save his child's mother.

* * *

T-Bag doesn't scare her at all. Actually, let's rephrase that; she's handcuffed to the sliding glass door and he's whispering threats and touching her and it's creepy, don't get her wrong. But it isn't making her anymore fearful than she'd been when he'd first captured her. In fact, Sara is not afraid or panicked or frightened at all; that is, until the General heads off to meet Michael and tells T-Bag that he isn't bringing Sara along. All he's going to be giving Michael is a slow death. Now she's panicked. When T-Bag asks what to do with her, the General tells him he can do whatever he wants and leaves her all alone with him. Now she's scared.

"You know," T-Bag begins and Sara already knows she doesn't want to hear it. She's right. "I wasn't the only fox in the river to fall asleep at night dreamin' about the treasure that was tucked beneath that white coat of yours. Every guy I know would choose eeny meeny miny mo between you and Nurse Katie. Sometimes, we'd go for the both of you. You diggin' that?"

Sara backs as far away from him as she can. It doesn't help. "All you old junkies like a little dirty talk. Let me see where those old tracks are. I think I can, I think I can…"

"If you let me go, I can tell the courts that you saved my life," Sara bargains with him, though she's sure it's futile. "Teddy, if you let me go, I can petition for leniency. If you let me go, I can tell them you saved my life. I still have connections from my father-"

"You know," T-Bag cuts her off, leaning close enough for Sara to see every festering wound on his face. "I always thought that the way I was gonna get revenge on Scofield was to kill him. Just drive the knife right into that beating heart of his."

Sara wince, flinches, turns away. She can't even fathom this thought; it's enough to make her sick. He seems to relish her reaction and plays upon it. "And now, standing here, looking at you, I'm thinkin' there's somethin' worse than death for him."

"Please," Sara gulps. "No."

"I'll return ya in once piece," T-Bag grins wickedly. "But that piece is gonna be a little… _used_, that's all. And every time he looks at you, every time he wants to be with you, he's gonna see _me_."

Sara's heart's in her throat and she's sure he can hear it, for it's pounding loud and strong and giving away her fear. T-Bag unlocks one of her hands to attach it to the other handle, so she's standing spread-eagle against the glass. It's not a good position for her to be in; she's _extremely_ vulnerable, now. He smashes her into the glass and it _hurts_, but she's just realized the left handle is loose and if she can jiggle it free, then perhaps she might be able to fight back. "Now, I'm gonna be a gentleman about this and I'm gonna let _you_ choose. You tell me how you like it, Sara, and I'll give ya just what the doctor ordered."

She can't help it; she smirks. He growls, "What? You got somethin' to say?"

"Just while you and the other cons were taking care of yourselves at night, Katie and I were going over your medical records, trying to figure out how best to manage your care and figure out what makes you tick."

He's swirling his tongue around and it reminds Sara of a serpent. "The thing I remember about you, Theodore- nothing makes you tick; how you can't… _tick_."

T-Bag frowns. "What exactly are you implying?"

"That the reason you rape and kill and make pain is because you can't make love," Sara spits back. "You've got neurologic ED, probably caused by injuries you sustained during your own childhood sexual abuse."

"That is a lie," T-Bag says slowly at first and then strongly, adamantly, "That is a lie!"

"Talk all you want about what you're going to do to me, Theodore," Sara threatens. "You and I both know there is _very_ little you can actually do."

"Alright, now you are going to take back every word you just said, do you hear me? Do you hear me?!"

"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, Teddy. So many men suffer from-"

"_Shut up!_"

Sara's left hand is suddenly free as she yanks the door handle clean off the door and smashes it into his face. But he's still at the advantage; he pushes her back against the glass, tosses the door handle away and, for good measure, punches her in the face. "Now, I don't know what is more insulting. You thinking I'm erectorily challenged or you thinking I'm gonna let you break outta here! Hmm, let me think about that. I'm gonna go with the first one!

Her face stings and she's crouched against the floor. It's over; she's got nothing left. Sara glances up just he begins to unzip his pants. "Now, I'm gonna show you just how functional I am!"

And out of nowhere, Michael appears and smashes T-Bag over the head with a crowbar. The fury in his eyes is unlike anything she'd seen before and just the thought of what he'd prevented makes Sara break down into tears. Michael's about to end T-Bag's life, by the looks of it, but Sara's been through enough and she certainly does not need to watch someone get murdered right in front of her, even if this someone is T-Bag. She cries, "Michael, please! Please."

As quickly as it had appeared, the fury is gone. His expression melts into one of relief instead and Sara can feel fear and longing and unconditional love radiate from every inch of him. He drops the crowbar, unlocks her handcuffs and pulls her into his arms. "It's alright. Come here. Are you alright?"

She holds onto him tighter than she ever has before and can't seem to stop shaking and crying. "Can you get me out of here?"

He nods and leads her out of her newest torture chamber and Sara wishes that every time she'd been tormented had ended this complacently.

* * *

"You've been busy," Sara comments as Michael leads them into the warehouse where he and Alex had been scheming all afternoon.

He glances up at her and tries not to notice the giant bruise glistening on her cheek. T-Bag had hit her, had done God only knows what else, and he would've killed him on the spot if she hadn't stopped him. He produces one half of Scylla to show Sara and announces, "Here it is."

"Where's the rest of it?" She asks instantly and Michael begins to explain.

"I couldn't make that choice, Sara. I had to save you both," He says. "I knew the General would never honor his end of the arrangement. I knew he'd never bring you to the exchange, so… I did what I to do."

She glances down at the device. "How big an explosion are we talking about?"

"Big enough to end all this," Michael tells her and then decides it's time for her to know that he's in on her little secret. "So we can… maybe start something new? I mean, if that's… what you're feeling."

Sara glances up at him in surprise and he grins at her. She grins back and nods a little and he knows she's understood what it is he's talking about. She laughs a little and practically runs to him, launching herself into his arms. He wraps his arms around her just as excitedly, gripping her tightly and securely and silently promising to never let go. He feels her let out a sigh of relief, as if she'd been dreading his reaction in apprehension and he's not sure why; this is the best news he's heard in a _long_ time. This child is going to be a ray of light, a glimmer of hope, and proof that perseverance and dedication always work out in the end. Sara pulls back a little to look him in the eye, though she doesn't remove her arms from around his neck.

"Who told you?"

"Linc," Michael clarifies, wiping the joyful tears from her cheeks and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Lincoln knows too, now?" Sara laughs. "That's great; why don't I just broadcast it?"

"What do you mean he knows too?" Michael asks in confusion and it's Sara's turn to clarify.

"Well, your mother must've told him," She says. "She's known for days now. I don't know how."

Michael smirks. "Swear to God, she's psychic."

Sara laughs a little and bites her lip. "So you're not mad at me? For not telling you, I mean. I was going to, I… I just wanted to wait until this was all over."

"No, of course I'm not mad at you," Michael disagrees. "How can I be? We're going to be parents. We're going to be _great_ parents."

"Better than ours, that's for sure," Sara says and Michael laughs.

"Well, that doesn't take much."

He can't keep the smile off his face and, judging by the look of Sara, neither can she. God, he loves this woman _so much_ and the thought of having a family with her is just the icing on the cake. After everything they've been through and even though it still isn't over, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, a silver lining on their gray cloud. They're going to turn over Scylla, they're going to be exonerated, they're going to be free. They're going to get married, they're going to have children, they're going to live happily ever after. For a while, Michael hadn't been sure this would ever happen. But now, as he looks at Sara and takes in her bright and shining eyes, her radiant smile, her exultant happiness, Michael knows that everything is going to be okay.

"Sara," He speaks her name so gently, so delicately, as if it might break.

"Michael?" She wonders just as softly, looking as though she might cry out of happiness once more.

"We're going to have a baby," Michael states simply and Sara laughs, nodding.

"We're going to have a baby," She confirms and he pulls her in close and kisses her fervently.

Nothing else matters (_not Scylla, not The Company, not the nagging pain lacerating his skull_); at least, not right now.


	79. Killing Your Number

**Alright gals and pals, here we are. As much as I dreaded the days when I had to post the finale and the Final Break, they have arrived. To space out the pain, you'll be getting them one a day, okay? Just to drag it out a bit. I know that's what I should've done when watching, because I made the mistake of watching "Killing Your Number" and "The Final Break" back to back and I was an emotional wreck. So thanks for reading, I apologize for the pain and try to enjoy?**

* * *

Killing Your Number

Michael can sense the end is near. It won't be long, now, until the entire operation is behind them. They're driving towards the exchange point, now, hoping to pick up Alex and Lincoln so they can all put their heads together to find a new home for Scylla. It certainly isn't going back to The Company and hell will freeze over before Michael gives it to his mother. There's a clicking sound and when Michael glances to the passenger seat, he notices Sara has unlatched the case and is examining Scylla, turning it over and over in her hands. Michael wonders what would happen, then, if she tossed it out the window; surely, if he ran the car over it, it would solve a lot of their problems. He knows they won't, but a part of him would like to.

"Someday, weeks will go by," Michael tells Sara a moment later. "Maybe even years; it won't even cross our minds."

"We'll come home and we'll talk about work," Sara agrees, playing along. "And what we want for dinner, movies…"

"Nursery schools," Michael adds in and the thought both frightens and delights him.

He can tell Sara feels the same way, breathing deeply to calm her nervous energy. They're both grinning in an anxious excitement and Michael's ignoring the slow-burning pain in his temple that's taunting him and telling him he may not ever get there. Instead, he says, "It's going to be great."

"Yeah," Sara replies, her enthusiasm waning a bit. "Yeah, all we've got to do is survive."

"We will," Michael insists as the pain intensifies a bit. "I promise."

When they do rescue Lincoln and Alex and return to the warehouse in which they'd been brainstorming, Sara asks who to give Scylla to and Alex announces there is no one left to trust. Michael decides to bring his thoughts to life and suggests they destroy it; everyone else acts like this is insane. It's understandable; they did spend the better part of two months risking their lives at every turn for this freaking thing and to destroy it would seem like everything they'd done and everyone they'd lost would have been for nothing. But there's nothing else to do and no one else to turn to; Michael wishes he'd run his tires over it when he'd had the chance. Just as they agree upon destroying it, Michael receives a call from someone he never thought he'd hear from ever again- Paul Kellerman.

Somehow, he's still alive and Michael will have to get the logistics later (he probably won't though; he doesn't really care). Kellerman states that he's working with the United Nations now after an anti-Company group freed him; he says he can get Scylla into the right hands and have them all freed. Of course, this is exactly what they're looking for, but Michael's not exactly about to take his word for it, not after everything they've been through in the past couple of weeks. To say they've got trust issues is an understatement. And then, everything becomes completely and utterly chaotic; Sucre and C-Note, of all random people, show up for the final takedown of The Company and Lincoln's spitting up blood and getting weaker and Sara sneaks into the hospital for supplies but Alex gets apprehended and then there's gunshots and they're not sure where they're coming from.

It's Christina, because apparently she can explode and be buried under debris, but still somehow manage to stay alive. It doesn't make sense and Michael wishes his mother wasn't indestructible, but there's no way he's letting her get away this time. Just as she makes the move to leave with Scylla, he aims the gun at the back of her head and shouts, "Drop it!"

And this bitch? This bitch _keeps walking_. Michael asks threateningly, "Where do you think you're going? Turn around _slowly_."

"Drop the gun," He demands when she's facing him. "Do it now."

"Michael," Christina pleads. "When you were-"

"Save it," Michael hisses. "I don't care. Drop the gun, put Scylla on the ground and I'll let you walk out of here. If you don't, I'll kill you."

"You can't kill your mother, Michael," Christina tells him and it's bathed in a thick sense of sympathy which makes Michael physically ill.

Despite this, he insists, "You were never my mother. And I'm no longer your son."

"Fine." Christina frowns. "Pull the trigger."

"Don't tempt me."

"Pull the trigger, Michael," She taunts. "Do it for Lincoln."

"_Drop the gun_!" He yells back furiously and it makes her jump and he's _glad_.

But there's a flicker of a smile on her face, like the after-burn of a jack-o-lantern, and he longs to blow out the flame. "You can't do it, can you?"

Michael's fed up with her games. This woman had stood by and allowed her own two children to be set up for countless crimes and chased around the country in a violent game of cat and mouse. This woman had abandoned her two children when they were very young and gone to work for a multinational corporation whose sole goal was to ruin the world. This woman had threatened the life of her would-be daughter-in-law and grandchild-to-be and had shot her own son in an area known to be extremely painful and, if not treated quickly, fatal. Michael's done allowing this _monster_ to roam the streets. He can do it; he _can._ He cocks the gun and pulls the trigger and Christina flinches, but nothing happens. Of all the times for a gun to misfire…

"Uh oh, misfire," Christina teases, lifting her own gun and Michael's sure this is the end. Her gun won't misfire; it wouldn't _dare_. She won't miss; _she_ wouldn't dare. "You were born a Scofield, but you'll die a Burrows."

There are gunshots and the sound of a body hitting the floor and an unimaginable pain tearing at Michael's left shoulder, but she hadn't killed him, after all. When Michael glances up, Christina's lying dead on the floor and Sara's just lowering her gun, Scylla having clattered to the ground. But it's not like it was the last time; the stakes are higher and the body on the ground is, unfortunately, a relative and Sara's not shaking and terrified ("_I just took a man's life!_"), but steady and calm. There's a harsh sort of anger brimming in her eyes and she looks composed and unfocused, but when she glances over at Michael, it all fades away. She crouches before him and inspects his shoulder- the bullet had gone straight through, thank _God_- and Michael feels everything all at once.

The love he feels for this woman, this remarkable, incredibly generous, _beautiful_ woman, is unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. It rattles him, humbles him, shakes him to the core; Michael is eternally grateful for everything she is and everything she's done. The amount of times she'd saved his life, the endless care and generosity and kindness she's offered, the support and encouragement and love she's continuously given him and he's gratefully taken is beyond words. He loves her more than words can say and as she tells him she _has_ to rush Lincoln to a hospital, as he tells her he'll get Scylla to Kellerman, and as Sara laments the fact that, once again, it's all on him, Michael's not sure he _can_ find the words to express to her what he's feeling right now.

So, he keeps it simple. "Thank you."

He catches the enormous amount of emotion in her eyes; she seems to understand.

* * *

"So… This is it?"

"There will be some follow-up interviews, but… This is it," Kellerman confirms. "Sign it and you're free to go."

Everyone flips to the last page to offer their signature freely and gladly, but not Sara; Sara reads hers cover to cover. She's not going to get caught on some technicality, not when they're this close to the finish line. Michael's the first to turn his in, Lincoln follows, Alex shortly thereafter. Sara finishes covering every little detail and is just signing her own when Sucre and C-Note hand theirs in. It's done, it's through, it's over. There had been a light at the end of this incredibly long and utterly dark tunnel after all; none of them have to live with law enforcement on their shoulders ever again. Michael and Lincoln embrace and Sucre asks if he can keep the pen; everything seems normal and it's strange and not at all something they're used to. Being on the run, hiding from the law, had instigated a feeling of repression and only now are they allowed to come into the light.

The moment she hands in her packet of documents to Kellerman, Sara feels as though she's finally surfaced after years and years of living underwater. Michael opens his arms to her when she turns around and Sara walks into the hug effortlessly and gratefully. He whispers to her that it's over (_Free at last_) and that today, this moment, is the beginning of the rest of their lives (_Free at last_). Sara can't respond because she wants it and needs it so badly and she never thought they'd make it this far (_Thank God almighty, we are free at last_). They don't have anywhere to go, so they check into a hotel overlooking the ocean and Sucre orders them a round of drinks to celebrate and a non-alcoholic for the mother-to-be. They talk endlessly about where they're going to go from here (Sucre says the first place he's headed is church and Michael's holding her hand when he asks his former cellmate to find them a good priest and it makes Sara's stomach toss and turn wildly) and for once, the only direction is up.

Later that afternoon, when the conversation wanes and they find an exit point, Michael and Sara decide to take some much-needed time for themselves and head on a hand-in-hand stroll down the beach. For the first time, no one second-glances at them, no one's hunting them down, and no one cares at all that they're there. They're just a regular old couple for once; something they never thought they'd _ever_ be. They're able to talk freely and anxiously about what is to come; no need for coded messages or origami, not anymore. And Sara's seen it all before, the crashing waves, the salty sea air, the bright golden sun, but somehow, everything's clearer, sharper, prettier. The ocean's never been so blue and the sun's never shined so bright and the entire world seems like it's been out there waiting for her to discover it.

"I want you to know," Michael says, then, breaking the contented silence. "I'm totally going to be a hands-on Dad."

The very thought makes her heart flutter. "Okay."

"Like if the baby needs a bottle in the middle of the night," Michael grins and his eyes twinkle mischievously. "I will _totally_ keep your side of the bed warm until you get back."

Sara grins too, laughing, and nudges his shoulder a bit. He presses on, undeterred. "When do they start walking?"

"A year?" She guesses blindly because, hey, it's her first kid, too.

"Better get some baby books."

"Yeah."

"Because I plan on being the most over-informed Dad in Chicago," Michael tells her and she can tell he means it.

She nods, the grin never leaving her face. "No kidding."

Sara slows her steps and when he glances back at her, she sees every dream he'd sold her laid right out in front of them. She sees hope and promise. She sees a _future_. "I'm happy right now."

His grin tells her he sees the very same things. "So am I."

But then, each and every one of these things is ripped away from her. A slow and steady stream of blood trickles from his nostril and her smile fades. She reaches into his jacket and produces a handkerchief, pressing it to his face as he takes it from her and wipes the blood away. And suddenly, all the dreams of baby books and midnight bottles and their child's first steps slip away. She doesn't know what the future holds, anymore, and she doesn't know if he'll be a part of it. Perhaps it's just nerves; perhaps it's the climate change. Perhaps it's just a run-of-the-mill nosebleed and she's working herself up for no reason. But if there's anything Sara's learned over the past few months, it's that _nothing_ is ever a coincidence. It's either part of your fate or it isn't and either way, there's nothing you can do about it.

Michael must note the look of terror in her eyes; he runs his hands through her windswept hair and fails to convey a reassuring tone when he tells her, "I love you."

And there are so many responses that she'd like to say but no combination of words will ever get it out right. Words at this point aren't enough to convey how much she loves him, how much she _needs_ him, how much is at stake and how terrified she is to lose him. Because she's lost him before and it nearly killed her; she doesn't think she can physically do so again. There's a child involved, this time, and how can he _possibly_ not be here for that? They had taken down The Company, they had incarcerated the General and they had finally been exonerated. They had somehow managed to keep their lives in the process. For him to suffer from this awful disease again would just be the universe fucking with them all over again; it's just not _fair._ She can't say what she wants to say (_Don't leave me. You can't leave me_.); she's not sure her lips could even form the syllables without her breaking in two. Instead, she keeps it to what will always, _always_ be true and what the universe _can't_ take away.

"I love you, too," Sara finally returns and though it feels like her heart's going to explode, she somehow manages to add a tragic smile to her words.

Michael pulls in her for a much-needed hug and she clings to him fiercely, wondering if she holds onto him hard enough if he'll still be able to slip away. She hopes not; he's gripping her with the same intensity.

Today is the beginning of the rest of their lives, but there's a slow-creeping feeling that tells Sara the end of his is also near.

And if it's the end of Michael's life then, by extension, it's the end of hers, too.

* * *

_Four Years Later_

"Those right there. Perfect! Thank you so much," Sara accepts the bouquet of calla lilies and pays quickly, turning to find her three-year-old already occupied. She grins; he always has the ability to make something out of nothing. _Just like his father_. "Michael, we've got to go."

She kneels before him, her warm yellow sundress teasing her ankles, and examines Michael's new body art. "What do we have here? Oh, you're so tough, huh?"

He kicks his legs anxiously, his piercing blue eyes scanning the entire fresh air market as his mother pays for his temporary tattoo and holds out her hand, standing. "Come on. Let's go see your Daddy."

Michael's got an enormous amount of energy that Sara will never understand; she wishes she had enough energy to just get through the day without her signature cup of coffee or two. They hop, skip and jump all the way to the beachside cemetery and Michael's exuberant giggles fill the tropical air the entire way there. It makes Sara grin; he's a brilliant child with an endless imagination and an entirely positive outlook on life. She loves him to death; he'd been her saving grace after several long, cold months of despair. The cemetery comes into view and Michael squeals with delight at the prospect of seeing his beloved Uncle Lincoln; the moment they get close enough, he tears his tiny hand from Sara's and she watches as he runs as fast as his little legs will carry him into the awaiting arms of her brother-in-law.

Lincoln steps forward and kisses Sara on the cheek and she greets him just as warmly. They have been each other's support system the last four years; holding the other together, keeping the other going strong. There have been some rough days, Sara remembers, and she's sure she hasn't seen the last of them, but she's confident time will heal their still-aching wounds (_it'll never truly go away; the gaping hole in her heart is ever-present_). Sucre's next, capturing Sara in a bear hug that she's always grateful to receive. She tries not to notice how her wedding ring catches in the sunlight and reflects off the headstone of the person they're there to see. Even Alex has showed up, Sara notes a moment later, and she thanks him for coming as he greets her with a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and tells her she looks great. She can't imagine she does.

From there, they move forward, because they have no other way to go. Sara hands Michael the lily bouquet and he takes them from his mother and lays them gently on top of his father, running back to perch himself in her lap. Sara feels the presence of the other three men surrounding her and for once, it's enough to keep her from bursting into tears. She tightens her grip on her son, on _their_ son, and hopes Michael's looking down at them from wherever he is; she hopes he's proud of what they've accomplished. Sara bends forward and kisses the top of her son's head and he slips his tiny palm into hers and doesn't let go. She feels tears prick at her eyes, but she doesn't shed them; she's cried enough for one lifetime. She knows Michael wouldn't want her to, that he'd want her to be happy, and truly, she is. But she'd be lying if she said she wouldn't be happier if he was with them.

He _is_ with them, after all; he is in every movement Michael Jr. makes and every word that comes out of his tiny mouth. Sara knows her son- _their_ son- is a carbon copy of his father and wishes with everything she has, wishes to her very _soul_, that he could be here to see him. Lincoln pulls an origami crane from his pocket and sets it atop the headstone, Alex steps forward and places his hand on the cool stone a moment before joining Lincoln at the shoreline and Sucre makes the sign of the cross, kissing his hand and touching the last bit they have of him. Soon, it's just the three of them; just Sara and Michael and their son in the only way the three of them will ever be together. She kisses him again and again and wants for Michael to kiss him too, to kiss _her_ too, but knows, dreadfully, they'd had their time and it may have been short-lived, but it had produced the greatest gift she had ever received.

They stand and Michael runs off into the sunshine to chase after his uncle and Alex and Sucre and Sara's heart aches, knowing there's someone missing. Michael Jr. asks about his father constantly and Sara does her best to explain the situation; that he'd left them in order to save their lives, that he loved them more than anything in the world, that he'd be here if could be. Her son watches the DVD, the last message Michael had left Sara and Lincoln, religiously, desperate to have just a glimpse of his father, if only for a moment. It breaks her heart, to be honest, but she allows it; it's the only time he'll ever hear his father's voice. Sara brushes the sand from her dress, gathers her shoes and steps forward, examining the headstone for any dents, dings or messes, wanting to keep his area as clean as can be.

There's nothing on it; it's clean and smooth and cool. _Perfect_, just how he'd like it, Sara's sure. She allows herself one more moment with him; _just the two of them_, she thinks bitterly, before tapping the headstone lightly and going on.

After all, there's life after death, hope and promise, too, and Sara doesn't intend on wasting the precious, very last gift Michael had ever given her.


	80. The Old Ball and Chain

**It's almost over, I swear... ;)**

* * *

The Old Ball and Chain

Seagulls cry in the distance as the deep blue waves crest and break against the pier he's standing on. Slowly but purposefully, the sun is rising out of the depths of the horizon, gleaming pink and orange and gold and bathing the entire beach in the promise of a new day. The beach, from shore to shore, is empty; no one's taking advantage of the brilliant morning breeze and the crystal clear water. But they are. Michael stands above the ocean, wrings his hands in anticipation and inhales the fresh salty air that comes with the territory of being beachside. There's a boat a few hundred miles off the coastline and Michael is reminded of all the things he'd once promised Sara; of all things they would one day eventually have. And before he can get lost in this thought, there are footsteps on the dock and Lincoln appears beside him.

"You ready?"

And he is; he's never been more ready for anything in his whole life. Even still, he replies with, "Didn't think I'd be this nervous."

Lincoln smirks and Michael glances over his shoulder to where Sucre awaits with the priest. "Now or never."

"Alright, papi, let's do this," Sucre says in excitement, gesturing a bit. "He's over there."

"You must be Michael," The priest greets him with a warm handshake when Michael approaches. "Your friend Fernando tells me you could use my services today."

Michael nods in confirmation. "Very much so."

The priest smiles and nods towards the beach. "And I assume that's the other half of your team?"

Michael follows his line of vision and it feels as though all the air has been sucked from his lungs. Sara's standing on the beach, grinning and radiant, and, magnetized, Michael is drawn to her instantly. Her hair is hundreds of different colors in the sunlight and her eyes are bright and shining with excitement and anxiousness. Michael's looking at her and it's like he's seeing her for the very first time; she's the most beautiful woman in the world and he can't help but stare, can't help but gloat, because after today, after _this moment_, she is going to be his for the rest of his life. He smiles at her when he approaches and, if possible, her grin grows even wider.

"You look beautiful," Michael tells her and he knows she won't accept the compliment. She's never been one for praise.

He's right; she runs a hand self-consciously through her hair and glances at the sand between them. "Thank you."

Michael takes her hands and they're warm and shaking, just like his own. The priest asks, "It's my understanding that you'd like to keep this simple?"

"We've never actually managed to keep anything simple," Sara laughs a bit and he joins in because it is true, after all. "You could try."

"Well, let's begin then, shall we?" The priest smiles at both of them before starting. "Family and friends, we gather here to celebrate the union between Michael Scofield and Sara Tancredi…"

The entire ceremony lasts less than ten minutes. Michael doesn't take his eyes off of her the entire time. When it's through, when they're pronounced husband and wife, when he's allowed to kiss his beautiful, blushing bride, Michael bends forward, captures her lips with his own and knows that _today_ is the beginning of the rest of their lives. The day they'd been exonerated had only been a precursor. They walk, hand in hand, up the beach and end up crashing some random party at a beachside resort they aren't staying in. It's as good a wedding reception as any. They collapse into beach chairs, Michael's arm still around Sara, and settle in to watch the salsa dancing and partake in the beer drinking. Sucre steps forward, grabs Sara's arm and, despite her protests, leads her in a salsa dance that brings a grin to Michael's face.

"Oye, papi," Sucre calls out. "This one has some Puerto Rican blood in her, I think."

And Sara's laughing and Michael's laughing and everything is blissfully wonderful until there's the unmistakable sound of sirens over the Latin music that cuts the party short. Everyone stops and stares as police officers enter the scene; Sara leaves Sucre's side and comes by Michael's instead. He grips her hand fiercely in his own; a silent promise to protect her with everything he's got. He and Lincoln both yell at the captain to check his facts, to talk to Paul Kellerman, because they were all exonerated and clearly, this must be some kind of mistake. But it's no mistake; in fact, they aren't looking for Michael or Lincoln.

"We're not here for you," The police chief tells Lincoln and then nods towards Sara. "We're here for her."

Panic floods her face and Michael's immediately shouting. "She didn't do anything! She wasn't involved!"

"Don't make this escalate," The chief says as Sara is maliciously taken from his grasp. "Sara Tancredi, you're under arrest for the murder of Christina Hampton."

"_What?!_" Lincoln yells in outrage. "She didn't kill anyone!"

"Funny," The chief replies. "Surveillance camera footage says differently."

"Michael," Sara says pleadingly, as if she's desperate for him to do or say anything, but he's speechless, motionless, and simply watches as they lead her away.

He'd done nothing, but then again, there's nothing he can do.

It isn't until after she's gone that Michael's panic and terror and anger boil over. They had torn the love of his life right out of his arms and there's nothing he can do to get her back. He calls the prison immediately and they deny him visitation at every turn and Michael feels, honestly, as though the universe is once again screwing him over. The lawyer Kellerman sends can't get Sara out; he's useless. He does explain, however, that law enforcement had been _pissed_ when they all got exonerated about a week back and, therefore, they're willing to see this thing through; they're willing to make Sara pay for what hadn't even been her fault. He can't even fathom what's going through _her_ head, right now. Michael's angry and frustrated and so deeply gutted that he can barely think straight.

Of everything he's ever thought of and anticipated, Michael never had a plan for this.

* * *

It's _prison_; it isn't jail. Sara grips her newly assigned belongings a bit closer to her chest as people of all convictions or non-convictions size her up. She isn't supposed to be here; she didn't _do_ anything, she hasn't even been convicted yet. The CO leading her in says something about overcrowding and budget cuts and Sara doesn't give a shit. She wants to go home; she wants to be with Michael. They call her "fish" (_Michael had been called that once, too_) and speak with a load of sarcasm and no-tolerance Sara hasn't heard since her early days at Fox River. She begins to unload her belongings and makes eye contact with no one just when a CO flags her and tells her there's a more private facility available for her. Sara gathers her things in rapid speed and follows blindly.

But it's an office and by the time Sara realizes what's going on, it's too late. She isn't exactly sure what they're going to do to her, but she has a pretty good idea. They talk about how they hadn't, at first, realized who she was though her name sounded _so_ familiar. It wasn't too long before they figured it out and Sara wonders how it's any of _their_ business what had happened up in Chicago. It hadn't affected them at all but they're certainly taking it as a personal offense. Sara tries to fight back, at first, but there are too many of them and she's become their new punching bag and so she escapes from her body, as she had in Panama, and lets it all happen. Punches, kicks, jabs and shoves into doors, walls, corners of desks… They're beating the _shit _out of her. It's surreal, as if it isn't happening if she doesn't acknowledge it, and Sara doesn't really care what they do to her. It's the baby she's concerned about.

"_Don't worry. We won't hit the baby basket!_"

It still rings in her ears hours later, as she's mopping up the blood from her split lip with a pillowcase. A creepy-looking inmate (_her name is Daddy, Sara will later learn_) appears before her and Sara tries not to attract too much attention. She's got a posse of other women with her and greets Sara by nodding at her brutally beaten face, saying, "Looks like that welcome wagon ran over your face."

She offers Sara a place in her little "family" she's created, but Sara wants nothing to do with her. If she's going to survive in here (and that's a _big_ 'if'), she's going to do it alone. They usher the cons to the mess hall for dinner and when Sara receives her assortment of runny foods and half-cooked meats, she turns in search of a place to sit and realizes she's the new kid in school, the one no one knows or cares enough to acknowledge, the one nobody wants to sit with. Until, someone does; of all people, Gretchen Morgan is there and she beckons for Sara to sit with her instead of eating alone.

"You're braver than I took you for," Gretchen opens. "Either that, or you're incredibly naïve."

"Does it look like I want to talk to you?" Sara asks honestly and Gretchen smirks.

"Just saying," She states in defense. "A woman in your position might opt for some protection."

A weird feeling suddenly overcomes her as Gretchen begins to explain Daddy's hierarchy. She feels like she's choking and maybe it's because the food is awful or the beating earlier had bruised her esophagus or she can't take being this close to Gretchen with no boundaries or maybe it's because she's _actually choking_. Her throat is closing and it's then Sara realizes- she's been poisoned. She can't breathe and she's gagging and the air she's taking in is getting fewer and farther in between, but the CO doesn't allow her to go to the infirmary until Daddy urges her to. It feels like hours, but eventually, everything is cleared up. She can breathe and the baby's okay and she tells the doctor that the poison didn't end up in her food strictly by accident. He says she must take it up with the warden and that's when Sara knows that she's _completely_ alone in this; no one is on her side.

"Then how about talking to me about your face?" The doctor then asks. "You want to tell me how that happened?"

Sara draws in a deep breath and channels her husband, bringing her all the way back to those early days at Fox River. "I caught an elbow playing basketball."

He doesn't believe it; she hadn't either, back then. But the memory makes her smile despite her situation, anyway.

* * *

_Someone tried to poison Sara_. It's the only thing running through Michael's mind and he doesn't even wait for the lawyer to finish his sentence before hanging up and heading to the prison. He's chomping at the bit to see Sara (_he's going out of his mind_), but he knows he can't and, right now, he has someone else he needs to see. He's granted entry to the men's facility and is seated in a visitation room anxiously awaiting his victim. Moments later, General Krantz is led in and Michael feels every nerve in his body surge with anger. As if ruining their lives wasn't enough, as if leaving Sara with _T-Bag_ wasn't enough, now he wants to kill an innocent woman. Michael can't get over his outrage and it takes everything he's got not to reach out and strangle him.

"Someone tried to poison Sara today," Michael says, his voice strangely even. "Only you would be depraved enough to think that killing an innocent woman and her unborn child would bring you some kind of peace before your execution."

"Sara is with child? Congratulations!" The General shouts in faux excitement. "This is like the fourth of July and Christmas day rolled into one!"

Michael wants to kill him. "I'm asking you, father to father, to leave her alone. You can kill me if you want to kill me. I'll trade my life for hers. But leave Sara alone."

"Michael, if you were killed, your pain would last a moment," The General points out as if it was the most obvious reason in the world. "If Sara were killed, your pain would last the rest of your life."

His heart drops and his anger surges and to avoid the inevitable, Michael has to walk away. General Krantz isn't going to let up because he _wants_ Michael to feel unbearable pain. What kind of human being could stand to do that to another? It's time for plan B; Michael heads straight to the warden's office following his visitation with the General because if he can't get her attackers to back off, maybe he can get her moved to more advanced security. The warden is nothing like Henry Pope; she isn't warm and forgiving, she isn't friendly and congenial. Instead, she's just as cold and unwavering as the General had been moments earlier. She doesn't believe the poisoning was an attack; just a run-of-the-mill coincidence.

"Prison life can be tough," The warden shrugs. "If I remember correctly you have two missing toes that can attest to that fact."

"I don't think you understand," Michael screams. "She's not safe here!"

His anger has done nothing to break her. He asks, instead, for a transfer to a different facility or even just to a segregated housing unit, but she denies him at every turn. "I know who you are and I'm not going to let you turn my prison into the next Fox River."

"All I'm trying to do is keep my wife alive," Michael pleads desperately. "You do know she's pregnant, don't you?"

The warden doesn't even blink. "I don't care."

This _horrifies_ him and he hadn't been expecting it. Before he can retort, his nose begins to bleed again and the warden offers him a tissue out of respect. He doesn't want respect or sympathy, least of all from the woman who's going to allow his wife to die. Michael leaves the prison with only one thought in mind- it's time for plan C. When he returns, Sucre immediately asks, "What happened?"

"The General wants Sara dead and the warden is just going to let it happen." Michael answers tersely. He can't get into specifics, not right now.

"Look, we've got a lawyer on the case and he's going to get her out, alright?" Lincoln assures him in an effort to calm Michael's rapidly overthinking brain.

Michael appreciates this, but there isn't another option. "There's not enough time. If she stays in that prison, someone's going to kill her. I guess we don't have a choice."

He can see the realization dawn on both his brother and Sucre's faces. He can't say they welcome the idea of another one of these grand schemes, but they're certainly not arguing. Michael nods, confident in his decision. "We're breaking her out."

* * *

Sara's on her way to the infirmary when the same CO who wouldn't allow her to go the day prior tags her and brings her to an abandoned-looking hallway. Daddy appears at the other end and Sara tenses a bit before telling her that whatever it is she's going to do, Sara will not go down without a fight. Daddy backs off a bit, telling her she hadn't been planning on fighting. She's actually there to offer Sara a job at the motor pool; it takes a moment or two for Sara to recognize the generosity, because she hasn't experienced it since she's been here. She agrees; if anything, it will be an opportunity to escape the confines of the prison walls. She can close her eyes, breathe in the fresh Floridian air and at least pretend she's free.

She's never worked on a car in her life; she's never had to, to be honest. But the moment she crawls beneath the underbelly of that first car, everything comes to her as if she'd been doing so her entire life. It must be the background in medicine or perhaps it's being married to someone who can look at something and see every little detail, all the moving parts, and know each of their functions. Either way, Sara's surprised by her own ability. She slides out from under the car and Daddy offers her a hand to pull her up, remarking, "Well, you're just a natural. I bet you were a hell of a surgeon."

And that's when an argument breaks out between one of Daddy's family members and herself. Sara doesn't take part; she turns away and wipes the grease and oil from her hands. She isn't here to make friends or enemies. She's going to stay out of everyone's way. Daddy turns back to Sara the moment the argument's ceased. "I'm sorry. You gotta forgive my old lady. She's… You just a little bit easy on the eyes, you know? She's just the jealous type."

Sara honestly doesn't care. She begins cleaning the tools as Daddy continues. "It's rough. It's hard, runnin' a family. It's important, though, that you have one."

She senses this is an invitation and Sara is quick to let her know, "I have a family. I have a husband."

"Oh, you do? You got a husband?" Daddy asks. "Is he here? They brought him here with you when you came?"

Sara shakes her head. "No."

"Yeah I had a husband, too," Daddy says a moment later. "Eighteen years is a long time to wait."

It doesn't deter Sara though she knows Daddy wants it to. There's no doubt in her mind that Michael wouldn't give up on her; not after everything they've been through, not after everything they still have left. She refuses to even acknowledge the thought; instead, she lifts the vat of oil and brings it outside to dispose of it. Thinking of Michael had only twisted the metaphorical knife even deeper into her heart. She knows they're not allowing him visitation or else he'd have been here by now. She exhales and glances up at the fences keeping her in- and comes nearly face to face with Lincoln. He gives her a reassuring smile but she can't do anything but stare back at him. He's glancing around the grounds as Sara watches him and then Sucre's there, too, before they both disappear into the trees. Sara tries not to allow hope to blossom within her, but it's already begun.

Before she return to the garage, a hand closes over her throat and she's slammed against the brick wall. "Get your hands off of me!"

"When I'm good and ready," Gretchen's silky voice replies. "What's Burrows doing by the fence?"

Sara doesn't respond; she doesn't know, but she does have an inkling. Gretchen frowns, removes her hand from Sara's throat column and warns, "Please don't make me ask you again, Sara."

Daddy glances over and looks away. Gretchen says, "Nobody here to help you but yourself. Are you going to answer me?"

"You tried to kill me," Sara exhales finally and she can see Gretchen roll her eyes, as if this fact is no longer relevant.

The CO breaks up their conversation before it can go any further. Sara knows Gretchen can sense there's a reason Lincoln's been tailing and scanning the prison, but no one's confirmed it for her. Sara's glad it pisses her off, but if Gretchen's going to be pissed at her, then she's going to need some form of protection. Hours later, she accepts Daddy's familial invitation and gets her own form of initiation. They run a metal serpent through a lighter and stick it flat against her right shoulder in a pain that's only bested by being whipped in Panama. They throw her out as quickly as they welcomed her and Sara's left to lounge on her cot in the lonely aftermath. A letter is tossed onto her open book and Sara sits instantly when she realizes it's from Michael.

"_Remember when I taught you about flowers? I wish I was with you now. To see you holding one in your hand_."

_To see you holding one in your hand._ It all clicks. Sara forgoes reading the rest of the letter and instead expertly folds the slip of paper into a version of the origami rose he'd once given her. His message becomes clear- _Tomorrow, p.m., 7, little dump_.

Lincoln had been there this afternoon to scope out a breakout point. Michael's getting her out of here.

Given his track record, Sara isn't shocked.

* * *

The moment Michael is granted visitation with Sara, he needs to hear nothing more. He heads immediately to the prison and shoots the warden the most threatening of looks. Michael's led to a visitation room and informed that a CO and the warden will both be watching from behind the glass panel. He doesn't care; none of that matters. He's _dying_ to see her and when the door opens, he whirls around to face her anxiously… and is greeted by the most awful sight he's seen thus far. Sara's face looks as though Rocky had used her for boxing practice. Michael senses the relief in her eyes, but he can only look back at her in panic and terror. He needs to get her out of here _now_.

"Oh my God," is all he can say the moment she's sat before him. "Oh my _God_. Who did this to you?"

It isn't as though she can answer and he knows that. Sara tries to assure him. "I'm okay. The baby's okay."

But it does little to lift his spirits. He hangs his head in sorrow and in guilt. "Sara, I'm so sorry. You're in here because of me."

Michael knows her and he knows she won't blame him for this, but _he_ does; he blames himself. "I'm sorry. It's just hard. I miss you so much."

He reaches out to clasp her hands in his and just as he feels her grip back just as fiercely, the CO warns, "No touching!"

Michael glares at her and returns his hands to his lap. This little moment has killed Sara just as much; her eyes fill with tears and she replies, "I miss you, too."

"You just have to hang in there, okay?" Michael tells her, hoping she understands that he's doing everything he can to get her out of there.

"I'm trying," Sara nods. "But my protection's gone."

"Did you get my letter?" Michael asks and she nods, smiling a bit.

"I did."

"I know it's hard for me sometimes to express what I want to say," Michael begins to explain. "But I hope you understood what I meant to tell you."

"I did," She repeats and Michael's heart gives another harsh tug.

"You were there for me," Michael tells her and it feels like his heart is tearing in two. "I will be there for you."

The CO comes in, then, to collect her and they're taking her away before Michael's ready to see her go. He watches her broken expression until he can't anymore and feels tears well in his own eyes. It's too much; it's just all too much. That familiar pain in his skull creeps up and claims him for a moment before he has to strength to walk out of the prison. When he returns home, he can tell Lincoln and Sucre are all avoiding the million-dollar question and Michael is grateful, because he can't go through it again. He explains what everyone's job is, what their part is and how they have to get the job done.

Sucre asks, "When do we have to get it?"

"By 7 p.m. tonight," Michael says and cannot get the urgency out fast enough. "Otherwise, Sara's going to die in there."


	81. Free

**Hello! Wow, where do I even begin? I think I'm going to start by thanking all of you for continuing to read throughout this entire beast of a story, because it's freaking 81 chapters, guys! I can't believe I held your attention that long and I just really owe everything to you guys. I would not have persisted had I not gotten the wonderful words of encouragement from you all and your kind, humbling messages. They are all extremely appreciated. I wasn't sure if anyone would read or like this, but you did; you took it and ran with it and stuck by me and I love you all for it. So thank you, thank you _so_ much, and I'm sure this isn't the last you'll see of me. Until then, however, please and read and review and enjoy, as always. I'm sorry I had to kill Michael, but Fox did it first. ;)**

* * *

Free

Sara can sense the plan isn't going accordingly the moment she steps into the visitation room. "What's wrong?"

"Look, I know you don't have any control over what's happened here, but, um…" Michael says quietly and Sara wishes there weren't six other pairs of eyes on them. She wishes for a moment alone. "Things aren't working out."

"Okay," Sara manages to say. She had been right; the plan is going awry.

"I'm trying to figure out a way to do this," Michael tells her, gesturing towards the space between them. "But from where we stand right now, there's only one option."

Sara understands what it is he's trying to say; she'd gotten incredibly good at deciphering Michael's codes. "Do you need more time to think?"

"No. No, it's not about that," Michael insists. "I've made up my mind. There's really nothing you can do about it. Except… pray for us tonight."

This throws her for a loop, though. "Pray for us?"

"You can pray for us to be together," Michael states. "Maybe I'll do the same."

Sara nods slowly and Michael begins to say something else, but the COs break up their conversation too early once more. She'd understood most of what Michael was trying to say, but most isn't all and most isn't going to get her out of there. She could tell Gretchen what he had said and see if she understood; after all, she's a part of the breakout team, now. But Sara wants to keep this between her and Michael; _pray for us tonight_. _Pray for us to be together. Pray for us. Pray_. It isn't until she repeats it over and over again that the meaning becomes clear. Michael's going to break her out this evening and he needs her to _pray_.

She has to get to the chapel as soon as possible.

* * *

Michael's touching a few wires together and taping others to the credit card he's rigged when Alex enters the room and tells him they've got a pilot onboard for that very evening. It's some drug runner he'd busted years back and Michael's wondering why this man is willing to do Alex a favor, but he's not going to pursue it if it works out in the long run. Alex informs Michael that what he's planning on doing- parachuting into the prison- is extremely dangerous and difficult, especially at night. It's nothing Michael doesn't already know; that's why he won't actually be doing it. Alex frowns and then nods towards the electrical wiring Michael's experimenting with questioningly.

"What's that?"

"It's a test," Michael explains simply. "See the prison was built in the mid-80s, so that exit in the administration building is probably protected by an electronic coded lock modified by a security card. Those locks don't have power protection, which means you can override them."

"And you can't just go to the building's generator and blow it out?" Alex asks and Michael shakes his head.

"No," Michael sighs. "A twelve hundred volt power surge will just set off the other alarms."

Alex looks at him as though he's missed something. "Not to mention maybe kill you."

Michael stares back at Alex a while before saying, "That's why we have to find another way."

* * *

There's a bounty on her head and Sara would be lying if she said she hadn't expected it from the General. Even from the confines of a prison cell, he still controls their lives and wishes to end them. Daddy's family had turned on her the moment their fearless leader was sent to the SHU; Sara has lost her protection. Gretchen is… well, she's Gretchen. Sara doesn't trust _anyone_, least of all her. She knows that if she's going to make it until tonight, however, she's going to need someone to watch her back. She can't allow herself to be killed, not when she's responsible for another human life, not when she's getting closer to the end.

Shower time is the most vulnerable time of the day. The COs step away for the cons' privacy, although there really is no privacy in an open floor plan with zero shower stalls. Sara's leaning against the far wall, avoiding contact with everyone. She glances at Daddy's family, who are all glaring back at her as if she'd killed their best friend. She's done no such thing; Sara's willing to bet it was Gretchen who'd planted the contraband in Daddy's cell. She glances at Gretchen, then, who's watching Sara's every move like a hawk and has to turn away. Once again, she's stuck in a situation with no real option to turn to; once again, she's on her own.

One by one, the inmates begin to leave the shower and Sara finds this very odd. The moment she begins to investigate, Agatha jumps out of nowhere and begins to lash at Sara with a homemade shank. Sara leaps backwards, out of reach, and staggers a bit, slipping on the wet floor. Sara grabs Agatha's arm the moment she reaches to stab her and she thinks she's overpowered her until Agatha turns suddenly in her grasp and shoves Sara to the floor. The shank is right above her and glistening in the dim, misty light of the showers before Gretchen steps forward and kicks Agatha square in the stomach. Sara watches, eyes wide, as Gretchen defends her, fighting back with a ferocity she must have learned in her early days with The Company. One final blow silences Agatha forever; she falls back against the wall and her skull cracks open on a hanger.

Sara scrambles off the floor as Gretchen, breathing heavily, approaches her, asking, "Are we friends now?"

She's too shocked to speak. She knows Gretchen takes this as a yes.

* * *

Alex takes Michael to the air strip and introduces him to the pilot, who quickly briefs him on the proceedings of that evening. As he steps away, Alex says, "If you don't like this guy, we'll take a day and come up with a new plan."

Michael's grateful for his friend's concern, but he can't bask in it. "No. There's no time, Alex. It's not just Sara's life at risk."

Alex nods. "I understand that."

"I know you do," Michael says, taking a deep breath before asking his next favor. "That's why I also know I can ask for your help."

"Yeah," Alex agrees. "What do you need?"

"If I don't make it," Michael begins and the words taste bitter, even to him. "I want you to make sure that Sara and my brother get out of the country alive. I need to know they're going to be okay. And I'm going to trust that you're going to do everything you can to make that happen."

It's a huge favor, Michael knows. But if anyone can make it happen, he knows Alex can. He reaches into his pocket and produces a folded sheet of paper and the DVD he'd made a day earlier, handing both to Alex. "Take this. I trust you, Alex. Remember that."

He bids farewell to Sucre ("Good luck, papi. See you on the other side.") before meeting Lincoln on the landing strip and preparing for his final prison break. This is it; this is the end. Michael had sensed the end was near, but he hadn't sensed it would turn out like this. Lincoln nods towards the plane and asks, "You sure that thing's going to hold you up?"

"It'll be fine," He assures his brother.

Lincoln glances over and asks, "And what about you?"

"It's not my first time inside of a prison," Michael tries a joke on for size, but it doesn't fit. It's too painful. "Hopefully, it'll be my last."

Michael begins to walk towards the plane as Lincoln calls out, "Think about all the amazing stories you'll be able to tell your kid."

"You're going to be the type of father our Dad never was; someone to look up to." He has to pause and turn back to face his brother in order smile at him. It does sound great, doesn't it? That's the dream, anyway. He just wishes he'd still be here to realize it. Lincoln pauses, smiles back and says, "Take care, Michael."

Michael can't do anything but pat his heart and wave. He loves his brother to death and to think this is goodbye is too much for him. He hopes he'll be able to successfully free Sara and that Alex, Sucre and Lincoln will watch over her for him. He hopes his child will be able to look up to him years from now, consider him a person to model their behavior after and want to be just like him. He hopes Lincoln and Sara and the baby will be safe from harm with Sofia and LJ in Costa Rica and hopes that whenever _it_ happens, they won't grieve too much. He hopes a lot of things, but he doesn't hope to make it, not anymore. He wants to, but he knows he won't. He, instead, hopes that he's successful in freeing the ones he loves, because if anyone in the world should be free and alive, it's them.

But most of all, he hopes that Lincoln and Sara will forgive him for what he's about to do.

* * *

Somehow, Gretchen causes a distraction; Sara doesn't really see. But there's pandemonium in the cafeteria and Gretchen's got the keys and she and Sara head through the kitchen as more COs are called to the scene. Gretchen's been stabbed in the struggle and she's limping and bleeding as Sara yanks the cover off of the air vent and prepares to climb through. Gretchen tells her to either leave her or help her, because she can't make it on her own, and although Sara wants her to rot in here, she's not an evil person. She guides Gretchen into the air vent behind her and the two crawl through, down into an abandoned hallway and outside. The alarm is ringing before they're even in the yard and they're running for their lives in mere seconds.

They make it to the chapel in an instant and Sara fumbles with the keys in order to unlock the door. Sara's pressed herself against the door in an effort to make herself invisible, but Gretchen grows curious and begins to look around. In a moment, there are two bright shining flashlights illuminating her body and shouts from officers for her to get on the ground. Sara freezes; there is no _way_ Gretchen isn't going to give her up. She thrusts the key into the door hurriedly and very gently, very quietly turns the handle as Gretchen tells the officers she isn't alone. But instead of telling them she's with Sara, she says God is here with her, that he's always here, and hints that she hopes someone will watch over her little girl on the outside. Sara's made it inside the chapel and, once the officers lead Gretchen away, very carefully opens the door and reaches for the bracelet Gretchen's dropped. In mere seconds, her wrist is seized.

It's Michael and his arms are around her in a second, asking if she's ready to go. Sara has to calm her furiously beating heart before she can answer him; he'd given her a near heart attack, after all. They head through the chapel's corridors and towards a set of giant locked doors; Sara says they're only operated from central control, but Michael informs her that they'd asked for help from T-Bag. It doesn't seem like a well-thought out plan; that is, until Michael begins to torch the doors open, stating he'd known all along that T-Bag might flake out and fail them. That seems more like the Michael Scofield she knows and loves. They're in the basement only moments later and Sara can tell through Michael's urgency that time is running out.

"Beyond this door should be a hundred yards of tunnel," He tells her as they approach their escape point. "Beyond that is Linc and after that, there's a boat bound for white sand and blue water."

She's too terrified to be excited. Michael fishes what looks like a credit card from his bag and explains, "The power surge will override the reader for just a few seconds; just long enough for you to open the hatch, so get ready."

Sara reaches out and takes a hold of the handle as Michael poises the card over the system. "Three… two… one."

He slides the card and Sara tugs on the door; nothing happens. Undeterred, Michael says, "One more time. Three, two, one."

He slides the card again and Sara tugs on the door again; again, nothing happens. Michael looks as though the world's just ended when he tells her, "I was afraid this might happen."

"It's okay. It's alright," Sara reassures him, determined. "We're going to keep moving and we're going to find another way out of here."

But Michael's face reads otherwise. "I know what I have to do."

He turns and heads back through the basement as Sara follows in blind confusion. "The battery wasn't generating enough power. I have to blow the system for the whole building."

Michael opens a giant grey breaker box with more switches and wires than Sara has ever seen in her entire life. She asks, "Okay, what do you want to try?"

"This is the main fuse. If I yank that, everything will go dark for a second. If I reconnect these two cables…" Michael explains and when he looks at her, he seems to lose his thought process for a moment. Sara's not sure why, at least not at first. "If I reconnect these two cables, there will be a lot of noise and every light bulb in this place is going to blow. And as soon as that happens, you need to open that hatch… and then I want you to start running."

Sara nods and heads towards the door once more. "Okay. What about you?"

And when he looks at her again, there's tragedy in his eyes and Sara _knows_. "Michael…"

"Sara," Michael breathes and steps closer, running his hands through her hair and down the sides of her face again and again. "Someone has to stay here… And someone has to open the hatch and that someone's going to be you."

"Okay," Sara says, refusing to believe what he's telling her. "So I'll leave it open for you!"

"You don't understand," Michael disagrees, bracing her shoulders. "This is the only way."

It feels like she's been hit by train; his words feel like everything awful she's ever experienced hitting her all at the same time. _She's getting out of here now, but Michael isn't. Michael's not coming. Michael's staying behind; Michael's going to die_. She can't allow him to do this for her and she's instantly disagreeing with his choice. "I'm not leaving unless you're coming with me."

Michael smiles and it's awful and gut-wrenching and beautifully tragic all in one. He places a warm hand on her belly, right where their child is resting oblivious to what is going on, and tells her, "But I _am_ coming with you."

"I _love_ you," Sara pleads with him and it's the last time she'll ever say it to his face. She can't handle the implications and she can't fathom living a life without him in it. She wishes there was more she could say to him, because she knows she'll never get another chance, but professing her undying love is all she can manage to get out. She hopes he understands that this is killing her, that his ultimate sacrifice could likely do them both in, and when he looks back at her with matching tear-filled eyes and a desolate expression, she knows he feels the very same way. There is no other option and she knows Michael's doing what's best for them, but that doesn't mean that it isn't leaving a gaping hole in her chest where her heart is supposed to be.

"God," Michael chokes on a sob and frames her face in his hands. "I love you, too."

They're kissing, but all Sara can taste is the sorrow and the grief and the guilt on his mouth. The tears are falling and mixing and soon, she doesn't know if they're hers or his on her face. She tries to soak up every inch of this kiss, because it is the very last kiss she and Michael will ever share. Her chest is heaving and her lungs are soon screaming for air, but she can't pull away, not even for a second. They're running out of time; he somehow wrenches himself away from her and it's much too soon for either of their liking. Sara wants to cling to him and beg him not to do this and she would if she were that kind of person. She isn't; he'd obviously made peace with his decision whether she liked it or not. She can't keep him for merely selfish reasons, not when there's a child to think of. But she opens her eyes and meets his incredibly blue ones and realizes that she'll never meet them again. It's enough to do her in.

He must sense this, because he ushers her away before he can change his mind. "Go. Go, Sara."

And she does. She has to walk away because if she doesn't do it now, Sara knows she never will. She grabs hold of the door handle and waits; moments later, there's an explosion and all the lights go out as Sara yanks open the hatch and goes through. She pauses anyway, looking back towards the breaker box but not seeing a thing. A minute goes by, maybe two, and Sara receives no reply from Michael, no sign that he's still alive, and she knows she's foolish for thinking he might be. Her heart feels as though it's going to explode, but she closes the door behind her and takes off running down the hall. She bursts through the door, charges up the stairs and pushes past the gate before coming to a dead stop in front of Sucre, Alex and Lincoln. She glances at the three of them and then back at the door, speechless.

Lincoln steps closer and gently takes her arm. "Where's Michael?"

Sara's in shock and cannot respond; can only glance back towards the hell she'd just escaped as Lincoln takes this as a horrible sign. "Sara, where's… Where's Michael?"

He darts past her and clings to the gate in hopes of any sign of his brother. Sara knows but cannot say that he will _not_ be exiting the prison. Alex sighs and pats Lincoln on the shoulder, confirming what they all know to be true. "He's not coming back."

And as Alex ushers them all into the vehicle saying they really needed to get out of there, Sara climbs into the car, numb, and can't even begin to process what had just happened. The sun begins to rise as they drive towards the marina, but no one can appreciate the new day, not when a very precious life had just ended. She watches the city of Miami fly before her eyes and wipes the stray tears that studiously escape from her eyes. No one speaks; Michael had lost his life and, by extension, had sucked the life out of every one of them. Alex shifts uncomfortably in his seat and pulls something from his pocket. When he turns around, Sara can barely acknowledge him.

"Michael asked me to give you this if he didn't make it out," Alex tells her, handing over the envelope and Sara immediately snatches it from him and reads the contents. "He said it would help you understand why he did what he did."

It's a medical report; Michael's tumor had returned aggressively and he'd been given six to eight weeks to live. None of this makes Sara feel any better. She hands the sheet to Lincoln for him to read. "It's his blood work."

When they arrive at the marina, Sara heads straight for the dock for a moment alone. It doesn't last long; Sucre appears by her side with a briefcase and says, softly, "This is the General's money. I was supposed to wire it down to Costa Rica for you to pick it up, but… I ran into some trouble."

"I'm sorry," Sucre says, then, and Sara knows there's a double meaning to his words. She nods. "You take care of that baby, okay?"

It makes everything come rushing back like the changing of the tide. He pulls her in for a hug and kisses her cheek as she says, "You take care of yours."

She bids farewell to Alex as well, thanking him tearfully for everything he'd done for them. Soon, as the others drive away, it's just her and Lincoln and he gently places a hand on her back, telling her it's time to go. They have to get out of the country, at least until this all blows over. So they board the boat, but it's not what Sara's expecting and it's not what she's come to hope for. Michael isn't here and they aren't going to sail off to points unknown; not now, not _ever_. She showers and cleans herself up and finally dresses the awful wounds on her face. But the bruises, the cuts and the contusions will heal; her heart will not. And when she no longer looks like Muhammad Ali's punching bag, she collapses in clean, fresh clothes on the couch as Lincoln announces Michael had made them a DVD. She isn't sure she'll be able to take it, but she watches it all the same.

When he comes onscreen, he's wearing the same thing he had the night earlier, and Sara's sure he'd made this moments before heading to the prison. It doesn't soothe her in the slightest. The first thing he does is smile at the camera as if he'd known that she and Lincoln would need some sort of assurance, some sort of comfort, after losing him. He's correct. "Well, if you're watching this, I'm glad, because it means you're safe and that's all I've ever wanted. I wish I could be there with you, but as you probably know now I wouldn't have had much time anyway, so… I made my choice and I don't regret it."

"Anyway, not too long from now, there's going to be another little Scofield running around," Michael continues and, in her grief, Sara had nearly forgotten that there is something she _could_ be happy about. A hand instantly flocks to her stomach, the other entangled in her hair. "And Linc, I want you to promise me that, no matter what, they're going to grow up knowing that their uncle is never far away."

Lincoln nods, agreeing. "And Sara, I want you to promise me that you're going to keep an eye on Linc. As you may have noticed, he has the tendency to get in trouble."

She chuckles a bit and glances over at Lincoln, who's grinning, too. "You know, we spend so much of our lives not saying the things we want to say; the things we _should_ say. We speak in code and we send little messages- origami."

"So now, I want to say plainly, simply… I want to say that I love you both," Michael informs them and he's beginning to get a bit choked up and it forms a lump in Sara's throat. "_Very much_. And I want you to promise me that you're going to tell my child…"

It almost becomes too much for him and he has to pause. "That you're going to tell my child how much they're loved everyday. And, remind them how lucky they are to be free."

"Because, we are. We're free, now," Michael finishes. "Finally, we're free."

And he's crying and Sara's crying and, call her crazy, but she thinks even Lincoln's shed a tear. Michael's gone and he isn't coming back, not this time. The fates had returned him to her once and she should be grateful that she'd had as much time with him as she did. And she is; she can waste her life wishing they'd had more time (_there's never enough time_), she can spend her days crying and aching and grieving, she can look at their child and see nothing but Michael and pour salt endlessly into the wound, but doing any or all of these things is never going to bring him back. She can do these things, or she can let go, she can move on. It's going to be hard and it's going to hurt for a long, long time; it may never _stop_ hurting, honestly. Their love had been intense and passionate and short-lived; the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. Sara isn't going to ever stop loving him but she is not going to allow his death to break her. She can't; not when a child needs her love and encouragement, not when a brother-in-law needs her support and companionship and not when there's an entire unwritten life-story awaiting her in Costa Rica.

It isn't how Michael had sold the dream to her, but it's still a boat and she's still sailing and she's still free.


End file.
